


Enveloped in the Darkness

by Brigade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enveloped in the Darkness, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 133,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigade/pseuds/Brigade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was left at an orphanage after his parents met their demise. There, he finds nothing but suffering until he rejoins the Wizarding World. Dumbledore may hope for Harry to be a kind soul, but he's made mistakes. And what he gets is a future Death Eater. Harry is Dark, Harry is ruthless, and he is siding with Voldemort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dream Deferred

**Chapter 1: A Dream Deferred**

Mr. and Mrs. Crawford of London were the best sort of folk you would ever meet. Charles was a former football player and a current school teacher at the local primary school in town. He was a broad – shouldered man and sturdily built, with a lively gleam to his soft brown eyes and just enough stubble along his jawline to be called a beard. Charles draped his arm around his wife, Angela, and pulled her closer to his side as the two walked toward their destination.

Both of the Crawfords loved laughter and they made sure that their house was full of it, but it was Charles' belief that the laughter of a child was even more precious. As a school teacher, the winning grins and unbridled joy of his students brought him happiness. After an unfortunate and inopportune knee injury that abruptly ended his football career several years ago, Charles had been in need of a bit of that happiness surrounding him. Those had been very dark days for him. He had been in need of a purpose. And what better purpose could one have than teaching children the things they would need to prosper for the rest of their lives – what goal was more noble?

Charles was happy and satisfied, now, but there was one niggling desire left in his life that remained unfulfilled.

And no, it was not poor Angela's fault, his wife of eight years. The two had met after one of his matches in a Manchester pub. The team had won – Charles himself earning an assist in the match - and Charles had laid his eyes on the most charming woman he had ever seen. She was modest and magnetic in the most positive of ways, her gorgeous black hair curling around her face in waves. Angela's blue eyes had found him that night and Charles had simply been unable to pass up the chance. Two or three drinks later, he had received her number and a quick peck on the cheek.

The couple had married within the year. In another, Charles' athletic career came crashing down and Angela was there to help him recover, offering a shoulder to cry on and an unwavering faith. Charles put his life back together with her help. Without Angela…where would he be? She was the woman of his dreams! If he had ever doubted it, she proved herself then.

However…

There was one problem that could not be solved. The couple had settled in London when Charles got his first teaching job and tried to start a family. They were unsuccessful. At first, they had thought it was Charles' fault, that something was wrong on his end of the, well, baby-making. That certainly was something no man, including Charles, ever wanted to consider. The doctors eventually came to the sad conclusion, however, that Angela was unable to have children – and how unfair was that?

What had they done to deserve such unfortunate news?

It tore Charles up inside. Angela was such a sweetheart and as patient as can be, helping to nurse him to health in both body in mind after his surgery. In fact, becoming a teacher had been her idea. Something about playing a team sport made that sort of job attractive – the team has to work together, after all, if they want any chance of succeeding. The classroom was the same way; any problems that arose had to be settled with an open mind lest the learning cease. And she had been the first to make that connection. But he had so much knowledge built up inside him from his thirty-some-odd years of existence, both of the world and of football to pass along to his own child. He had been through so much; his own father had left him and his mother when he was young. He wanted to give everything he had, everything he had never been given to his own child.

His _own_ child.

 _'And that's why we are here today_ , _'_ Charles thought with a smile. At long last, Angela and he would achieve their dream. The faint sounds of tinkling laughter helped to lift Charles' morbid thoughts and painful reminiscing. Today, the couple planned to adopt a child from Ripley's Orphanage, a small orphanage located right outside the bustling city.

For all intents and purposes, Ripley's appeared to be a homely building. Children were playing on the playground to the side of the bright, brick building; the boys chased one another, yelling and laughing and having fun. The girls frolicked to and fro. Such liveliness brightened Charles' mood even further and he did not even bother to try to hide his grin.

"C'mon, honey," Charles urged her. "There's a child that needs us today."

Angela mirrored her husband's smile before returning her eyes to the children at play. In fact, there were more than she thought the orphanage would hold. Boys and girls of different age groups ran around, climbing, jumping, and giggling as they went. However, a group of older boys were huddled by the jungle gym. Perhaps they were too old for such nonsense as playing. The thought made Angela laugh.

"Let's go meet the staff, Charlie," Angela said softly. "They'll help us find the right child. Tell me if you see one that you'd like, though."

Charles grinned and rubbed his hands together in anticipation as they neared the front door, laughing in merriment. The fulfillment of a dream. Their dream.

His own _child_.

The Crawford's, in their own world, were oblivious to what exactly the older children outside were huddled over.

* * *

"Such a small runt, aren't you, Potter?" One particularly large boy snarled, kicking out at the defenseless body beneath him, enjoying the strangled cry of pain. "Did you see those people enter the building? They wouldn't want a creepy kid like you. They want a good kid, one who isn't so weak."

The bully punctuated his sentence by stomping on the little boy's hand.

Little was just about the only way to describe the boy writhing in pain. After all, the child was only six years old. Wild black hair was matted with little clods of dirt and specks of blood as pained green eyes glared at their tormenters.

The boy, Harry, had never fit in at the orphanage. He had been left at Ripley's at the feeble age of one, left only with a note stating the boy's name and birthday. Ever since little Harry could remember, he had suffered at the merciless hands of the kids at the orphanage. Why? No clue, he would tell you.

Harry was not normal. He had accepted that a long time ago and wished the other children would as well. He did not enjoy playing with others. He barely tolerated speaking with them. The only thing that made him happy was reading, something he had learned only recently. The books he read were easy to understand and simple and spoke of uncharted territories, unforeseen lands, and mystical powers.

Oh how he wished he had those powers. The power to fly, the power to fight back, the power to win…the power to make his tormentors stop. And that's truly what they were – tormenters. It was a word he had recently read. At first, the older boys had just kept away from him and spread lies. Now, they liked to make him suffer. Maybe his desperation for these powers was working, though. In the past week, Harry stumbled upon several things that simply did not make sense. One of the boys had tripped him a few days ago, ripping the sleeve of his only coat in the process, a coat that had been given to him by the orphanage when someone had donated it. The weather was getting cold so Harry mourned the loss of his protection. When Harry awoke, however, his jacket was fixed. In fact, the jacket was in the best condition Harry had ever seen it. That day, Harry had been happy – something that he rarely felt.

Only a few days later, one of the kids stole his lunch. And his dinner. Harry had gone to bed hungry that night, and the next day it seemed the kids had decided to see how long they could make Harry go without food. Finally, an adult stepped in, giving Harry a bowl of soup as the others went to play. Harry feasted greedily on the soup, but the bowl did not empty – it stayed full no matter how much he ate. As he was finally becoming comfortably full, Harry's spoon hit the bottom of the bowl.

But how did these things happen? It made no sense. Was someone, at long last, looking out for him? But how could they do such things? Another blunt kick to his already bruised ribs brought him back to reality.

"You hear me, Potter? Those people don't want a runt like you. They want a good, strong kid like me. And if you mess this up for me somehow, I will make you pay, you little shit!"

The bully taking the lead role in his suffering, Mike – they liked to pass that responsibility around finished his assault by kicking Harry across his jaw, clicking the latter's teeth together painfully. For Harry's part, he whimpered and remained still, trying to protect as much of his body as possible and deter them from inflicting any more damage.

Every day was like this. Every single day. There was no one bully, either; all the kids were mean. All of them wanted to hurt Harry just for the sake of it. It made them feel powerful, Harry thought. Part of him wanted to fight back, but there were simply too many. He wanted to get away, more than anything. To have a home. To have people who actually liked him.

' _Leave. Please leave_ ,' Harry thought desperately, shuddering from the pain. It would not do to black out, either. The adults never seemed to really care. He and his problems were just a chore for them, something to be completed with a sigh.

"Children," Ms. Reed shouted. "We have visitors today! Come back inside, please!"

She had said please, but that was for whoever the visitors were. It was an order – everything she said was an order. She didn't care about him, either.

Ms. Reed was a middle-aged woman who was unflattering in nearly every way imaginable; you could start with her wispy hair and end with her oily, clammy skin. She was an unnaturally thin and severe woman, punishing children for reasons that seemed unreasonable. Indeed, Harry had once been caned by the lady for eating too slowly.

Today, however, she was his savior as the boys retreated to the orphanage, but not before laughing over his pitiful position once more. Harry pulled himself up to wobbly legs, wiping his sleeve across the cut on his forehead and releasing a shaky sigh. His jaw ached and his right side gave off a sharp pain with every breath. It took him a moment, but with one last measured, painful exhale, Harry shuffled his way back to the orphanage.

"Shut the door behind – oh look at you, Harry! This is ridiculous!" Ms. Reed scolded, scrunching her beady eyes at Harry's battered appearance. "Go get cleaned up! We have visitors and I will not let such a pathetic sight ruin the other's chances at finding a family!"

Harry did not respond. What point was there? It was pointless to fight. He was not big enough, not old enough…not strong enough. He reached for the banister and made to climb the stairs to go wash up in the bathroom.

God, how he wished he was stronger. In many of the books he read, there was a hero who was strong and brave and changed everything for the better. Why couldn't he be like that? He needed help.

He needed a family.

"Oh Charlie, look at that one over there," Angela smiled, pointing to the small boy climbing the stairs. He was so cute with his large green eyes. The boy's shirt was stained by the earth. _'Probably an energetic little angel_ ,' she thought fondly. Her Charlie might need some more time, Angela had already made her mind up; she wanted that little boy to come home with them.

Charles grinned. The kid was a bit scrawny, but he could work on that. The child was young though, four or five at the oldest it seemed, which was perfect for Charles. He desired the chance to be a true father, to raise a child through their entire childhood. If Angela had already made her choice, he could certainly go along with it.

Best to at least speak to the little guy, though.

"We would like to meet him," Charles stated, pointing to the child as he disappeared upstairs. "Could we talk to him?"

"Harry?" Ms. Reed grimaced. There were so many better children here, of course. Ones that truly deserved homes. But if the pair wanted to talk to the boy, why not humor them? "Of course. If you will follow me, I will show you to a room where the three of you can meet."

Ms. Reed ushered the couple into the cafeteria area of the building, hissing behind her, "Mike! Go get Harry! These people want to talk to him." Mike glared sullenly, but took to the stairs two at a time.

Harry was washing the grime from his face when Mike found him, opening the door with a bang. "Alright you little brat, what did you do to make these people want to talk to you?" Mike demanded, stepping forward to trap Harry between him and the sink.

"I dunno," Harry mumbled, casting his gaze at his ragged trainers. Mike was obviously angry but he wouldn't do anything drastic with visitors here. And speaking of visitors…they wanted to speak with him? Why? Surely not to adopt him? Harry couldn't help the little spark of hope that ignited inside him.

"Well you and me are going to have a little chat after this," Mike growled, cracking his knuckles spitefully. "I told you not to fuck this up for me, didn't I? We'll get to the bottom of it all, though and you're not gonna enjoy it, asshole."

Mike was one of the older kids. At 13 and equipped with many a swear word, he was running out of time to be adopted. And it was thanks to younger children like Harry that he was cast aside. All their fault.

"I'm sorry, Mike, I didn't mean to," Harry whispered, hating his own words. He deserved a chance to be happy – he would not truly apologize for that.

Mike snorted. "Whatever, runt. Get your arse downstairs before those people find someone better." Mike grabbed a fistful of Harry's shirt, smirking before shoving the boy brutally out of the bathroom.

Harry crumpled at the top of the flight of stairs as Mike laughed harshly. Thanking his luck and ignoring Mike's final taunt of "Nice shiner you got there, runt!" Harry made his way back downstairs towards Ms. Reed, gripping the banister to support his wobbly legs.

Ms. Reed watched his progress with a sour expression, crossing her veined arms under her drooping bosom.

"Alright, boy," She spat. "I don't know why they want to talk to a little troublemaker like you, but they want to. Be polite, don't act up, and for Christ's sake, don't cry."

With that, Harry was pushed into the room where the two strangers sat. The man was grinning like a loon, his straight white teeth popping past tanned skin and dazzling Harry. The man was sitting, but Harry could tell he was awfully large. Heck, he still towered over Harry's young frame. The woman, a shorter and softer looking individual, was not grinning as widely as her husband, but her blue eyes were warm as well. Harry swallowed as that spark turned into a warm fire in his stomach. Did they really, truly want him?

"Hi, sport," The man started, his voice deep and rich. ' _They really do_ ,' Harry realized. Harry moved closer to the man, hoping to hear him say more.

"Hello," he returned shyly, sliding into the seat opposite the couple.

"You poor dear, what happened to your face?" The woman crooned, distressed to see the bruise taking up the entire side of the child's face.

"It was jus' an accident," Harry mumbled, gingerly touching his still-aching jaw.

"Poor baby," the woman whispered sympathetically as she reached out to caress the spot. Harry was in heaven. "What is your name?"

"Harry, ma'am," Harry said, his tiny hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt as she massaged the spot. "It's nice to meet you."

"It is great to meet you too, buddy," the man spoke up, his grin turning much softer, much warmer. It filled Harry with hope and cautious optimism.

"We saw you come inside and we wanted to meet you," The man continued, reaching out to pat Harry's shoulder. "My name is Charles and this," Here, he wrapped his free arm around the woman. "Is my wife, Angela. We are looking to add a member to our family today."

Harry's heart soared. This really was his chance! His chance to leave, to find happiness. He could not let this chance go.

"Do you like football?" The man, Charles, asked curiously.

Harry nodded eagerly. He had never seen a match but he'd seen the older boys kick around an old football. More importantly, he did not want to disappoint the man. "Yes sir, erm-"

"Call me Charlie," Charles interrupted with another heart-warming grin.

"Yes sir, Charlie," Harry finished dutifully, relieved to see the man smile.

"I used to play football, Harry," Charles said, revealing one of the ragged orphanage footballs from behind his chair.

"Like for England?" Harry asked curiously, leaning forward to peer at the ball the man was twirling in his hands.

Charles and his wife both chuckled. "No, not quite. I was getting there though," Charles joked. "I am a teacher now."

"Is that fun?" Harry inquired. He had never been to school but it seemed like fun to him. Anything to get away from the orphanage seemed that way, though.

"It is for me," Charles laughed. "Maybe not so much for the children."

The meeting was going so well, Harry thought. The two, Charles – Charlie, he reminded himself, and Angela were perfect. Charlie was rambling on about getting Harry signed up to play football and how the man would teach him. No one had ever cared so much before. He needed to show them he was worth it.

"I can do something cool," Harry blurted, interrupting the man in midsentence.

"Oh? And what would that be, Harry?" Charles teased, interested however to see the boy's "something cool."

"Hold the ball out," Harry said shyly. This was it, the moment that would assure him a happy future. The couple would love him and his ability – it was the one thing that set him apart from the other children, after all. Harry was a bit uncertain if his idea would work, but he was certainly desperate enough, and good things happened when he was desperate.

Harry shot off his chair and took several steps backwards, slowly reaching his arms out and _needing_.

In a matter of moments, the ball zipped out of Charles' open arms and into Harry's. Harry grinned down at the ball. It worked! And that was the first time he had actually caused something to happen when he wanted it to! Charlie and Angela would truly love him now! Harry looked up in excitement, expecting to see two awed faces.

That is not what he saw. Quite the contrary, in fact.

"H-h-how did y-you do that?" Angela whispered, one hand holding onto Charles' shirt tightly. Charles gripped the knees of his jeans with white knuckles, his mouth furrowed but his eyes wide and cautious.

Harry felt time stop and his heart freeze. He shrugged feebly, looking at the ground. "I don't know. It was something I learned to do. You-you don't like it, then?"

"That was a bit scary, Harry. Really scary, actually," Charles admitted lowly, his eyes warily gazing at the little boy. Maybe they should reconsider…after all, that wasn't normal, was it? What could something like that mean?

"Please don't be mad," Harry pleaded, holding the ball out to Charles. This was all going wrong and his insides were melting and how could he fix this? "I didn't want to scare you, honest! There are so many kids here and I want a home and parents so badly and I just wanted to impress you and -"

"It's okay, honey," Angela said shakily. She kept looking from the ball in Harry's hands to Charles' guarded face and back. "Perhaps we should look at some other of the children though; it is only fair to give everyone a chance, right?"

Harry watched, devastated, as Charlie nodded and muttered his agreement.

"No!" Harry screamed. His heart tearing at the seams and there was no way to fix any of this. He could not believe it. He had tried so hard to impress them and it was all crumbling down.

"I-I just wanted you to like me. That's all that was. I'll never do it again if you don't' want me to. Please don't leave me," He finished with a broken whisper. He could already see it in their eyes, however. He had lost his chance; they did not want him any longer.

Turning from their rejection, Harry wrenched the door open, desperate to get as far away as possible; these people were just like the rest, he realized as he fled to an empty room of the orphanage to drown in his sorrow – it did not matter what Harry did, other people simply did not care. They had their own plans and wants and they never really cared. He was alone, truly alone in this world.

Harry shut and locked the door, crying as he fell to the ground. Never had he felt pain like this. No matter what damage Mike or the others could cause to his body, none of it rivaled the sting of rejection.

He laughed spitefully through his tears. Harry hated himself for getting his hopes up. Of course it would not work out - it never did anyway. Those people wanted a child to raise, but they did not want Harry. He was just too freaky for them.

' _I don't need them_ ,' Harry thought viciously as the tears finally stopped. _'I don't need anybody. Whatever it is that I can do is not a bad thing. It makes me better – better than everyone in this stupid place! They can't handle it. And I will be better than them all one day, and then it will be them that don't matter_.'

Never again, Harry vowed to himself. He would never allow himself to be hurt so badly again.

His heart grew cold.


	2. So I'm a Wizard, huh?

**Chapter 2: So I'm a Wizard, huh?**

Harry slipped past the threshold before turning to lock the door of his bedroom behind him – actually and more accurately, he shared this bedroom with three other boys. He wasn't exactly fond of any of them, and that was an understatement. Harry allowed himself a soft, quiet sigh and surveyed the cramped room. The two beds nearest the window were unmade. The sheets were tossed aside and clothes and toys were strewn about all pell-mell, littering the already cramped walkway between them. The sun was peeking through the window behind low clouds, bathing the room in a golden light. Harry walked to his own properly neat bed in the darkest corner of the room, picking up the book he had left by his pillow. Tossing his legs upon the mattress, Harry sank down into the peace and quiet.

Silence was hard to come by in the orphanage, especially at eight in the morning. All the kids must have taken their place downstairs, greedily expecting food. Harry snorted in disgust. Years of association with those…brutes had taught him that they were nothing but the worst of society. They all were selfish, they all cared little for others, and they were all ruled solely by their own emotions and appetites. They did not spare one iota for anyone else; they only worried about their own gain. This realization had hit Harry that day several years ago when that couple had met with him. He had received no attention from visitors since.

And truthfully? That was fine with Harry – it was almost what he would prefer. Those planning to adopt were selfish as well. They all wanted…something. A boy. A girl. A physically attractive child. An athletic child. A smart child. They held standards beyond just helping the parentless – hell, some only wanted the positive publicity that came with adopting a child. It sickened Harry to even think about and he had no problems in condemning the lot of them.

_'That couple wanted me because I was young,_ ' Harry scoffed derisively as he violently turned the page of his tattered book. _'I was cute. They had spent all of ten minutes looking around and chose me as if I were on display. They didn't want me. They wanted a small child that they could coddle_.'

That was certainly something that Harry was far beyond needing, if he had ever needed it – coddling. After that humiliating interview, Harry had vowed to become fully independent. He was done getting bullied. He was done trying to make friends. And potential adoptees? Screw them.

If only his actual parents were still around. That would probably be a different story. They had meant to have him, right? He hoped so, at least. They would have wanted him because he was their son. At least he liked to think so.

Harry was around average height for his age and much quicker on his feet than the average child. That ability had gotten him out of several rough spots over the years. Of course, his other ability was even more useful…

Harry smirked broadly and turned the page once more with gusto. Oh, his abilities had given him much satisfaction over the years. So many pleasant memories. For nearly five years, Harry had practiced his unique abilities. Harry once accredited his ability to "needing" something. However, after consistent practice, his talents had gone far beyond just wishing and needing. Now, Harry _controlled_ it. If he desired something, he could simply make it happen; he could not explain it, but that did not really matter in the long run. If Harry wanted to cause pain…well, put it this way - his tormentors had learned their lessons.

' _Especially Mike_ ,' Harry thought with a soft chuckle. The older boy was now in jail. Harry had seen to that. Two years ago, the children at the orphanage were taken to see downtown London. Mike, sixteen at the time, had tried to rob an elderly woman. The boy was almost old enough to leave the orphanage and his chance of being adopted had long since passed. Mike needed some money; for this reason he had taken his butter knife from breakfast to use to extort pounds from the weaklings of society. What better way to make money than to steal from the defenseless, right? He was the scum of the earth, after all.

Harry bit back another dark chuckle. Did Mike not realize that he was actually one of the weaklings of society? People like him - a useless, blubbering waste of space - deserved nothing but the pain and suffering that they called upon themselves. And the boy had once dared to torment him…well, good ol' Mike deserved a little extra pain and suffering for that.

_'And who's to say that Mike was not completely in control of his actions?_ ' Harry thought, reliving his triumph. _'The bastard had ruthlessly stabbed the woman. And not just once, but several times before grabbing the dying woman's bag and sprinting away! He deserved it. He earned it. And truly, it was such a relief that police officer had been near enough to see the crime_.'

Harry grinned once more, flipping another page of his book with enthusiasm. Controlling Mike's actions had been ever so easy. Just a small bit of pressure on the boy's arm and Mike had jammed that knife into the woman's abdomen. And if there were ever a question of Mike's character, the boy continued to stab the woman. Over and over and over again. Harry had only "helped" the boy with that first strike. The second, third, fourth, and fifth blows were solely fueled by Mike's greed.

Harry regretted using the woman as a tool in his revenge, but Mike's actions had cleared him of any guilt. One stab with a butter knife would not kill anyone. But by choosing to make his strikes fatal, Mike proved what Harry already knew; there was no place for people like Mike in society.

The police had taken him away and Harry was left satiated. Indeed, jail may even be a small mercy for Mike. A kindness that he was undeserving of. Mike was obviously lost in the world – he had no direction, no education, and most importantly…no backbone. In jail, the boy would be provided all the things needed to suffer through the miserable existence he was destined for.

As for Harry, he knew the he was destined for greater things. His…powers. They gave him an edge that he planned to capitalize on in every way he could imagine. The book he was currently reading was a testament to this. The book spoke of things Harry already understood and that was quite the feat for a boy nearing his eleventh birthday.

A sharp rap on the door snapped Harry from his reverie. The knock was easily familiar. No child could be bothered to knock in this place. They all felt entitled to have anything they wanted, whether it was food, toys, or simply entering a room. The caretakers, however, liked to at least humor the idea of privacy, but that was only a poor illusion. It was Ms. Reed at the door, Harry thought, an assumption made simply from the impatient, quick succession of the knocks. Harry bit back a sneer and placed _Mein Kampf_ face-down underneath his pillow as he stretched himself upright and opened the door.

"Boy," Ms. Reed rasped, her disapproval of him shining through. Harry frowned; how unappealing could one person be?

"You have a visitor. Get downstairs." Ms. Reed narrowed her eyes as she inspected Harry, her pallid features becoming more ugly as she judged him. "And for God's sake, put some better clothes on first."

Harry cocked an eyebrow and looked down slowly at his black slacks and ragged red t-shirt. Did this woman not realize that Harry possessed no better clothing than this? Harry controlled his anger, however. He spared the woman a soft "yes, ma'am" as he swiftly moved past her down the hallway.

That woman was a constant thorn in Harry's side – an incessant annoyance. Every time he had been abused as a small child, she had turned a blind eye. Even worse, she looked down on him in his time of need. But he was not weak any longer. He was strong enough now to act upon those who slighted him and she had earned herself a very special place on Harry's "these people will pay" list. But that all could wait – Harry was not interested in enacting his vengeance until he could actually get away with it. Now, it seemed, someone was here to adopt him. Harry's lip curled up into a sneer. He did not want them, whoever they were. He did not need anybody else – with his abilities and mind, he would be just fine. He would be better than fine, actually; he would be better than everyone. These "parents" could go fuck themselves.

Loose boards creaked under his feet as he descended the stairs. In the past five years, the orphanage had lost most of its early charm. The orphanage was still relatively new, but the playground out back was growing rusted, the floorboards were rapidly warping from the soggy footsteps of little children, and the walls were dented from the rambunctious acts of its inhabitants. Harry eyed it all with disinterest. The orphanage had seemed to take on the appearance of Harry's childhood over the last several years – dark, decrepit, and mistreated.

Harry reached the room Ms. Reed had directed him to, ignoring the rowdy roaring coming from the cafeteria down the narrow hall. Harry needed to prepare himself for this encounter. Potential adoptees…well, they were annoying. All cheerful and _happy_ and ignorant of how horrible this place was. But placing himself in their clammy clutches would be even worse; then, he would have adults trying to look after him and he would be subordinate to them. At least now, in this cesspool of poor genes, he was in control of his own actions. Parents would hold too much control over him.

So how to act? On one hand, he could act like the rest of the children here – uneducated, unmannered, and filthy. That usually worked. Harry smirked sardonically, shaking his head as he opened the door.

The room was small and cramped like many in the orphanage. A thick, circular wooden table sat in the middle of the room with a delicate tea set perched on top. Two sturdy, high-backed chairs sat on opposing sides of the table. Harry frowned at the furnishings; the chairs and table, unless Harry was simply missing something, had never been there before. But what did that matter, especially considering the woman sitting upon one of the chairs, looking straight back at him?

The woman, even from a sitting position, was obviously tall. Her black hair was spun tightly into a bun that sat atop her head. Rectangular spectacles framed the woman's face, sitting in front of sharp eyes following Harry's every movement. Judging from the slight wrinkling of her features, Harry decided the woman was settled nicely into her middle years. The wrinkling was not repulsive on this woman, however, as it was on Ms. Reed; it only added to her well-kept appearance. Her expression and posture, however, were what really caught Harry's attention. Prim, proper, and well-mannered; these were not adjectives that normally popped into his mind around this orphanage.

"Mr. Potter?" The severe woman began, her voice low, soft and strong as she stood swiftly to extend her hand in welcome. "Minerva McGonagall, at your service. However, I am most often referred to by my title of Professor."

Professor? So she was a teacher? Harry resisted the urge to smirk at her. _'Let's hope she has a stronger stomach than the last one_.'

"Pleased to meet you," Harry replied in turn, shaking the hand firmly. He cast his eyes up towards the woman's face and she merely looked down at him for a moment. She seemed satisfied with him, though, and she gracefully took her seat once more and reached for her tea cup.

"I am rarely one to waste time, Mr. Potter, and most anything I could say at the present time would do just that. I am here to offer you a place at the school in which I teach," She began bluntly, her index finger tracing the lid of her cup. "You have been on our register for nearly a decade. But before we delve too far into the topic of school…I must first I must ask you if you have ever seen anything strange happen…does anything come to mind?"

Professor McGonagall's eyes snapped up to meet Harry's own and they were narrowed with purpose. Harry merely looked back at her, but he knew what she was implying. It was pretty obvious.

"Something, perhaps," Professor McGonagall prodded gently after Harry's reluctance to answer. "That cannot be explained by normal means?"

Harry scratched at the bridge of his nose. What were his options? He could lie, of course. That would not be hard – who was this woman to ask such a thing? And upon first meeting, no less? How could he trust her?

But woman – Professor McGonagall – she knew or at least suspected that he could do things others could not. That was apparent to him. Everything about her was evidence to that. Was she afraid of him like the rest? Or…and this was particularly enticing to Harry…could she possibly share his abilities?

"Perhaps," Harry said drawlingly. These were definitely dangerous waters, though, and they needed to be navigated quickly. What better transition than natural curiosity? "Where is this school, Professor? And why should I consider going?"

The woman smiled thinly. That smile did not sit well with him. "Why…where else would you learn to do this, Mr. Potter?"

Professor McGonagall's arm twitched from where they were folded in her lap and Harry jumped out of his seat in surprise; the table between them had combusted instantaneously. Harry turned wide eyes toward the woman, spotting for the first time a wooden stick in her hand. Oh bloody hell, this was not happening…

So what the hell was she? A witch? Harry smothered a laugh at the sheer prospect of a witch existing, but here was the evidence, tap dancing in his face. Magic. What did that make him, exactly? Moreover, could she do the things he could do?

"The school," Professor McGonagall continued on, ignoring the table – it was still on _fire_ , by the way – as she considered the details. "Hogwarts, is a school for witchcraft and wizardry. The school resides in Scotland and the students arrive there by way of train. At Hogwarts, we teach young witches and wizards the spells and information that will make them prosperous in our world."

Spells? Our world? Harry was completely lost. He did not use spells; he did what he wanted because he made it that way. How would spells be helpful when he could force things to simply happen? But that was not a question for McGonagall's ears, Harry was certain; it was better not to scare her away before he received more information.

"Is Hogwarts the only school?" Harry asked as he cocked his head and squinted. Professor McGonagall smiled quickly – a grin that was almost patronizing – before twirling the tea cup perched on her lap.

"There are others…but much smaller. However, Hogwarts is recognized by the Ministry of Magic to be the premier primary school of magical learning in all of Great Britain. We have unanimous accreditation where other schools are…lacking."

So a good school. Marvelous. He looked down at the blazing fire, dancing merrily atop the table but not scorching the polished wood.

He'd just ignore the whole fucking "Ministry of Magic" thing for the moment.

"Pardon, Professor," Harry began, his own hands twitching in excitement over being able to light something on fire. That was something he had not tried…yet. "I am a little lost here. How, exactly, do witches and wizards differ from, erm –"

"Muggles," McGonagall supplied, hiding a smile behind her teacup.

"Muggles?" Harry echoed blankly. Were magical folk in the business of making up words?

"Exactly," Professor McGonagall affirmed with a tilt of her head. "It is the word we have assigned to refer to the non-magical population."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He raised his shoulders in acknowledgement before leaning back to listen to the witch. Professor McGonagall paused, setting down her teacup before returning to Harry's original question. "The magical population has remained secretive for many centuries. We are a select few who hold the power to manipulate the world around us in ways that seem impossible. For instance, this table," Professor McGonagall flicked her wand at the table and the flames vanished, leaving no trace of ever existing. "Was conjured. Conjuring is a field of magic in which objects and materials are produced from seemingly nothing."

Harry was enraptured. Ever since the table had been placed on fire, Harry knew he was out of his league. This woman knew much more about his ability than he had even considered. But this concept of magic – it went beyond anything Harry had even considered. The possibilities of such a power were enough to salivate over. Were there any limits to what could be done? How, exactly, did magic work?

Professor McGonagall, pleased with her future student's attention, continued on: "Muggles do not possess these abilities. Magic itself is something that witches and wizards even now struggle to define. We are not the only ones who possess such an ability, however; creatures and different races harbor magical abilities of their own."

Professor McGonagall's voice was fairly melodious and Harry found himself catching every word, even the slight emphasis she put on latter part of the sentence. For her part, the witch seemed to have settled into a comfortable role – and as a teacher, Harry supposed, informative speeches were right up her alley.

"I take it that you are interested in accepting our invitation, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked dryly.

Interested? Of fucking course Harry was interested! What he desired, above anything else, was for an alternative path to open up for him that would remove him from the orphanage. This was it. Harry was not surprised that the woman could read his eagerness so readily so he nodded silently, lifting a shaky hand when Professor McGonagall revealed a large envelope from her coat. Harry cast his eyes down at the green lettering, blinking a few times to remove the fuzziness from his gaze:

_**Mr. Harry James Potter** _

_**The Darkest Corner of Room 7** _

_**Ripley's Orphanage** _

_**London** _

Oh goodness, magic was real. Joy and laughter mixed in his throat, bubbling up into a breathless huff. Harry's heart was beating through his chest and his skin felt feverish. Trembling fingers grasped clumsily at the fold of the yellowish envelope, pausing only to take in the purple seal on the back, bearing a coat of arms. Four animals - a lion, serpent, badger, and eagle – surrounded a large script H.

"Go ahead and read the letter," Professor McGonagall urged softly.

"Of course," Harry murmured. He let loose the breath he had been holding in and reached into the envelope to grasp the letter. Harry read:

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY** _

_**Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE** _

_**(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)** _

_**Dear Mr. Potter,** _

_**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.** _

_**Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.** _

_**Yours sincerely,** _

_**Minerva McGonagall,** _

_**Deputy Headmistress** _

Harry let the letter fall from his fingertips and with a nervous twitch he rubbed the back of his neck. He would simply ignore whatever the hell a Supreme Mugwump was for now in favor of learning more about the woman sitting patiently across from him.

"Excuse me, Professor, but what does your job as Deputy Headmistress entail?"

Professor McGonagall nodded at his question, quickly refilling her teacup – by magic, of course, sending Harry's heart racing once again – before replying.

"My job as Deputy Headmistress is most accurately described as one where I aid Headmaster Dumbledore in allowing the school to function properly. That being said, I am in charge of presenting muggleborn children with their letters and answering any questions they may have, even going so far as to help them retrieve their school supplies.

Your case, Mr. Potter, is quite unique. You have a…storied past to deal with," Professor McGonagall grimaced at this term. "You are not a muggleborn."

Harry raised his eyebrows in an almost unsurprised manner. Seriously, in lieu of everything else that had been revealed…it didn't matter. But there was one thing that clicked in his mind; if he was not a muggleborn, and more importantly, if Professor McGonagall could be sure of as much…then it stood to reason that she knew who his parents were.

"You are the son of James Potter and Lily Potter, both of whom I taught," Professor McGonagall provided. "And I doubt you'd appreciate anything less than the truth so I will not sugarcoat this, Mr. Potter. They were killed nearly ten years ago by a wizard who was as bad as they come. The wizard was also a magical prodigy who posed many risks to our world, inciting a civil war that threatened our Statute of Secrecy. This man –"

"What is his name?" Harry quietly interrupted. Honestly, what did all of this matter beyond the first statement? The wizard was responsible for killing his parents. By proxy, the wizard was responsible for Harry's ten years of misery. By the way, had he mentioned that the man had killed his fucking parents? He needed the man's name.

"His name was Voldemort," Professor McGonagall said, pursing her lips at Harry's question. "And he has passed away as well."

"A shame, that," Harry muttered viciously. "Who killed him?"

Professor McGonagall sputtered. "I never said he had been killed, Mr. Potter, only that he had passed on."

Harry almost laughed. Did he really need to elaborate? "People like this guy you are describing aren't exactly the type to die on their own. And if he started a war, there's a good chance it ended when he died. So I ask again - who killed him?"

"You."

Wait, what?

Harry shook his head demurely as the irony hit him. He had had his parents ripped away from him at the age of one. Such an act deserved a cold, deliberate revenge. And thoughts had been swirling and taking shape in his mind…until that one word. He was planning to hunt the man down – and this Voldemort fellow was already dead!

Professor McGonagall was sitting rigidly. She apparently did not appreciate his comments on the subject of his parent's murders.

_'Some bastard killed my parents and I am just now finding out about it_ ,' Harry mentally scoffed. _'She can suck a lemon for all I care_.'

"So how did I…kill him, Professor?" Harry asked, quelling his annoyance.

The Professor stared at him evenly before taking a small sip of tea. "That is complicated…as well, Mr. Potter. No one was there to witness your encounter with Voldemort, but I cannot explain the entire situation without delving into magical theories that would go over the heads of Hogwarts' most experienced students. This man Voldemort was a Dark Wizard, one who wields magic of a more menacing nature. Dark Magic has been banned by the Ministry of Magic due to its destructive effects on it wielder, going so far as to alter –"

"There's a Ministry of Magic?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall snapped, "Please do not interrupt again."

Harry raised a hand in apology whilst internally rolling his eyes.

"Dark Magic can alter the wielder's personality and appearance. There is reason to believe that this is what happened to Voldemort. But it seemed that that was intentional on Voldemort's part. He was a self-proclaimed Dark Lord, a champion of Dark Magic and those who use it. He had amassed a large following to challenge the Ministry and its control. This resulted in a war. Your parents fought against Voldemort and were consequently targeted for their opposition."

Professor McGonagall was losing her scholarly air. The story obviously affected her on a personal level. Her eyes softened and Harry, despite his earlier annoyance, listened quietly:

"Your parents were both very special. You look extraordinarily like your father – the similarities are quite uncanny. He was a brave wizard who stood for what he believed in. When Voldemort broke into your parents' house, they both defended you to the best of their abilities. Unfortunately, Voldemort possessed magical skills that are nearly unprecedented. No one ever got the better of him. Until you.

"Voldemort cast what is known as the Killing Curse on you. It is a curse that causes the target to die instantly. It is one of the three Unforgiveable Curses, curses that are never permitted without justifiable cause. No one has ever survived the curse. Again, until you."

Harry's eyes were unblinking as they searched Professor McGonagall's face for the truth. So he survived an un-survivable curse, huh?

"And how is such a thing possible, Professor?" Harry argued. "How did I live? Even more, how did that kill Voldemort?"

"I do not know, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall admitted. "No one does, in truth. It's still a mystery, to this day."

Harry dipped his head, staring at the space between his two ragged sneakers. Perhaps he was a bit callous – he felt next to nothing for his deceased parents. Maybe that could be attributed to his place here at the orphanage. He'd never had parents, at least for as long as he could remember. And who cared how he survived, really? He was not planning on having to do it again. What concerned him more was the thought that he was accredited with killing a man that had tormented the entire wizarding population. Such an act would not go unnoticed.

"What did the Wizarding World think of Voldemort's death?" Harry finally settled on asking.

"They rejoiced." Professor McGonagall said simply.

Harry tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "You aren't telling me something."

"How perceptive," Professor McGonagall praised with a thin smile. "You must understand that at that time the Wizarding World was being oppressed by Voldemort's forces. Voldemort's death was and still is celebrated. You were the cause of the Wizarding World's happiness; as a result, they adore you, a boy that they have heard nothing about for ten years."

"Fantastic," said Harry, his stomach turning at the idea of others fawning over him. Well, on second thought, perhaps he could make all of that work out.

"And so," Professor McGonagall recounted. "You have received your letter. You have accepted your place at Hogwarts. Now, I have one more thing to offer you; if you'd prefer, I can accompany you in gathering your school supplies for the upcoming year. There should be a materials list still residing in your envelope."

Harry fished the material list out of his envelope, scanning it quickly until his eyes rested on a wand. Oh. Hell. Yes. Multiple books were listed – Harry was eager to receive those as well.

Did he want Professor McGonagall to take him shopping for school supplies? Not particularly, but reason ruled out; honestly, he had only been informed of the existence of magic five minutes ago. He had no idea of where to go. So he would suffer through company. Professor McGonagall was at least helpful – and make no mistake, Harry had hundreds of questions he wanted to ask. If she accompanied him, there would be time for all of that.

"I would like that, Professor. But where are we going to find all of this, though?"

"If you know where to look, it is a fairly easy task to accomplish."

"And where should we look?"

"Diagon Alley."


	3. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

London was...different when viewed from the back of a double-decker bus, Harry thought. Currently he sat alongside the prim Professor McGonagall on the way to "Diagon Alley." Harry had never heard of it, but if the professor was telling the truth about magic and the magical world, he never would have, would he?

The seat he was residing in creaked with every bump in the road. That was fine with Harry; every bump was one closer to being near magic. The thought made Harry feel warm inside. The two of them were nearing a place where magical items were stored and sold, everything from books to wands. How could he not be excited?

"What classes does Hogwarts offer, Professor?" Harry started, his mind already cataloguing the things he would like to learn how to accomplish.

"Hogwarts offers a core group of classes to all students, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said. She spoke freely; Harry had watched her swish her wand as soon as they sat down. Apparently, whatever magic she used made it to where the others riding the bus could not hear them.

"For you as a first year student, you will be studying Charms, Transfiguration – taught by yours truly – Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, and Potions. These classes we at Hogwarts feel are vital in the magical world and every student should have some knowledge of.

We do offer other courses, but only once the younger students grasp a basic knowledge of how magic functions."

Harry was looking out the window at the passing London landscape but he was hanging on McGonagall's every word. From an objective – and admittedly ignorant, he would have to fix that – perspective, Harry could agree. Herbology would probably be necessary for Potions, Potions seemed necessary at some level for defending oneself, and Charms and Transfiguration could probably help there as well.

"What other classes are there?" Harry asked. Just because he would not be taking them to start his schooling did not mean that he could not read about them.

"The other classes you may take once you are a third year," Professor McGonagall nodded, approving of his questions.

"We teach our students more specialized courses at that point. From there, you may choose to study Ancient Runes – "

"Runes?" Harry inquired.

"Yes but please do your best to not interrupt, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall scolded lightly.

Harry nodded but did not apologize; wanting to know more was not a crime, after all.

"Runes are markings that magic can attach itself to," She continued, her impatience with his questions seemingly forgotten, "Runes can be used in more advanced fields of magic – fields that you could not possible grasp at the moment."

Harry grinned. So that was a challenge, was it?

"What else?" He asked softly.

"Arithmancy is offered at Hogwarts as well, along with a class teaching the proper care of magical creatures, Astronomy, and Divination."

Professor McGonagall grimaced as she spoke the last class, Harry noticed amusedly. That did not bother him; learning the future was not something he really cared about anyway.

"We also have another class – Muggle Studies – but I doubt you are much interested in that, considering your situation."

Professor McGonagall cocked her brow as Harry scoffed.

"There's nothing interesting nor special about muggles," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, Professor."

The traffic outside the window was getting more crowded. Professor McGonagall had mentioned that Diagon Alley was in the middle of London and considering the buildings and cars pressing in on the bus, they were getting close.

"We also have a flying course," Professor McGonagall said suddenly.

"Flying?" Harry breathed. Oh wouldn't _that_ be useful?

"On brooms," the Professor elaborated. Harry's mood deflated slightly; still, any type of flying would be brilliant.

"Can witches and wizards fly without brooms, Professor?" Harry asked, unwilling to let his desire to fly unaided die.

Professor McGonagall hummed.

"Only a select few."

Harry smiled. As long as there was a chance, maybe he could get someone to teach him.

"Charing Cross!" The bus driver yelled from up front.

"Come along, Mr. Potter. This is our stop," Professor McGonagall announced, standing smoothly as the bus creaked to a standstill. Harry wobbled slightly as he stood but followed her down the bus' aisle. Once his trainers met the pavement, Harry looked around. They were not on Diagon Alley, or at least he hoped not; the buildings were all a moody gray color. A large, sturdy building was standing perhaps a block or so away, but the surrounding area was run down. The street seemed to be where small businesses made their home but some of the buildings looked uninhabitable. In fact, the shop nestled between a record shop and a bookstore was sporting several broken windows.

"Come." Professor McGonagall said. Harry mentally shrugged, following the Professor towards the run down shop that he had been mentally criticizing.

"By the way, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said softly as he reached towards the door, "Welcome to the Wizarding World."

Harry's eyes widened comically. Even for a kid who did not usually lose his composure, this was too much. A cozy pub sat behind the door as he passed the threshold. How was the pub this big? How were the windows fixed? How were those mugs on the counter cleaning _themselves_?

Harry took a moment to breathe, slowly surveying the people talking amicably around the pub. A small fire was nestled in the fireplace, keeping the pub comfortably warm. Professor McGonagall was standing patiently beside him as he took all this in. He had so many questions, but no time to ask them. Instead, he nodded shakily towards the professor and followed her as she walked to the bar.

"Afternoon, Tom," Professor McGonagall said briskly, addressing the barman.

"It's still mornin', Professor McGonagall," Tom said with a toothless grin. Harry studied the man for a moment. Tom was both old and quite bald, looking as if he never had a head of hair in the first place.

"Either way, Tom, I am not here for a meal; I am on Hogwarts duty, introducing another child to our world."

"Ah, yes, Professor. I wouldn't want to waste your time."

Tom's eyes travelled to Harry, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he grasped his chest.

"Good lord, -can this be? Is this Har-"

"Obviously," Professor McGonagall snapped harshly, moving to block Harry from the inquiring eyes that heard Tom's exclamation. "We would appreciate it if you could show some tact, please."

"My apologies, Professor and erm –" Tom trailed off, his eyes never leaving Harry, "Well – if you would like to go to Diagon Alley, feel free to take the door out back."

"Thank you, Tom," Professor McGonagall supplied, her arm maneuvering Harry past the bar.

"One more thing!"

Harry turned back to look at Tom the barman. The man smiled softly and said, "Welcome. The Leaky Cauldron will always be open for you."

Harry nodded back at the man, slightly perturbed at the man who was probably still staring at him. Now that he looked around, Tom was not the only one staring.

"Everyone is staring at us." Harry muttered, warily eyeing the man who had dropped his drink. The man had not seemed to even notice, considering the man was looking in their direction with his mouth open.

"Not us, silly boy – you." Professor McGonagall said, a thin amused smile on her face.

"Well it cannot be me," Harry argued. These people did not even know what he looked like!

"I have taught most of the witches and wizards in Britain, Mr. Potter," The Professor countered. "Most felt that I was an acceptable instructor, but I've done nothing to be famous for. However, Mr. Potter, as I said earlier, you look extraordinarily like your father. Due to how the last war ended, your father's appearance is well known. It is not such a stretch to think that you are Harry Potter. In fact, these people know your age; they may even be anticipating your appearance.

"Damn," Harry muttered.

"Language, Mr. Potter," She scolded, using her wand to tap on the brick wall that Harry had not even noticed.

With one last tap, the wall seemed to melt away, displaying the most interesting cobblestoned alley Harry had ever seen. Witches and wizards crowded the streets, wearing robes of all things. A myriad of color hit his eyes; shops were selling telescopes and whirling objects lolled around window displays. Books were totteringly stacked outside of one shop and another featured an assortment of vials with squishy-looking things labeled bat spleens, eel's eyes, hag's hair, and more. Harry's eyes could not keep up with everything his brain was processing.

"Seven sickles for a newt's tail? Why I never –" Harry heard one stout wizard say, snapping him from his daze. Professor McGonagall was looking at him again, doing nothing to conceal her amusement. Harry scowled before schooling his feature.

"Where to now, Professor?"

"To the bank, Gringotts. I shall have to leave for a while once we get there. I must ask you to meet me outside the bank once you are finished," She replied, checking her pocket watch briefly before motioning to Harry to proceed.

Harry walked silently, studying the shops as they passed. Flourish and Blotts seemed to be a bookstore; he would need to go there later for his school books – as well as some extra reading materials.

The people in the Alley seemed to not notice him, so caught up in their own shopping that they missed him. For that, Harry was glad. He was really not in the mood to put up with people; he had just learned that there was more to his powers than he previously thought; everything else would have to wait.

A large, marble building sat near an intersection in the cobble street. The words Gringotts Bank were engraved right above two imposing bronze doors. Harry narrowed his eyes as he spotted dark-skinned…things wearing some type of uniform in front of the doors.

"Goblins," Professor McGonagall supplied as soon as Harry started to speak.

Harry shrugged, nodding towards the nearest goblin as they passed through the bronze doors. The goblin did not acknowledge him except for slightly narrowing its eyes. The creatures did not seem too imposing, but Harry was certainly was not in a situation to test that theory.

Instead, he turned his attention to the poem engraved on the silver door in front of him:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed,_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors,_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware,_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry's eyes flickered to a goblin watching him read, a sinister grin planted on its face. Harry smirked in turn, responding, "Is this a challenge?"

The goblin chucked darkly, "One that you would lose, young wizard. That I can assure you."

Harry ignored McGonagall's hand of warning on his shoulder, instead replying, "Perhaps I will test that someday."

"We shall look forward to it, wizard," The goblin shot back, "Us goblins love a bit of violence."

Harry laughed, nodding as he was all but carried away by Professor McGonagall.

"What on earth were you thinking, Potter?" She hissed. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"Not at all," Harry defended, still grinning at the goblin's words. "The poem is a dare, Professor, not a death sentence. The goblins must know they are good. They don't think anyone could get past them.

If someone were to find a way to steal something, however," Harry continued. "I doubt there would be any consequences. The goblins would admit defeat."

"You will not be stealing anything of theirs! Do you have any –"

"I'm not stealing anything, Professor," Harry assured her. "I am just stating what I know."

Professor McGonagall led him towards a bank teller. The goblin sat behind a large marble desk, writing on a large piece of…something with a feathered pen.

"Pardon, sir. I have a minor with me who would like to visit his vault."

' _Vault? I have a vault?_ ' Harry thought as the goblin lowered his pen to look beadily at him.

"And does this minor have proper documentation or his key?" The goblin growled.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He certainly hoped that Professor McGonagall had an answer to that because he certainly did not.

"He has his key, yes," McGonagall said briskly, slapping the key onto the counter.

The goblin reached out, picking up the key before inspecting it closely. After a tense pause, the goblin eyes snapped back towards Harry's.

"Very well, Mister…Potter. Follow me."

The goblin hopped down from his high-backed seat, walking purposefully towards the large black doors at the end of the entryway with a set of keys in hand. Harry looked to McGonagall, only to notice that she was nowhere to be found. Harry shrugged before trailing after the goblin.

Beyond the black doors was a large, cavernous mine shaft, or so it appeared. The earth sloped down to a set of rails that ran alongside rocky cliffs. The rails led down the cavern before turning sharply around a ledge.

"Step inside one of the carts, Mr. Potter, and we can go to your vault," The goblin drawled, making Harry jump – he had spaced out again.

"My apologies. I was only introduced to the magical world today and I seem to be a bit out of sorts," Harry said, stepping awkwardly over the side of the cart.

"I find that hard to believe, Mr. Potter," The goblin replied, raising an eyebrow towards Harry.

"Yeah, it's true," Muttered Harry. "I never asked what your name was, sir."

"Most wizards don't," The goblin scowled, "But I am called Bogrod amongst my people."

Harry nodded respectfully. He could sympathize with the goblin. Being looked down upon was never easy to deal with.

"So, I was trying to explain something to the woman with me," Harry started, enjoying the wind whipping at his hair as the cart took off, "Your words on the front door of the bank –"

"The rhyme?" The goblin inquired, a grin slowly forming on its wrinkled face.

"Right. It is not really an admonishment of theft, is it? It is more of a challenge than anything."

"Very perceptive," The goblin mockingly praised. "However, we feel that once a wizard has tried – and failed – to rob from us, they have given control of their lives to us."

Harry nodded. Any challenge had repercussions if a person failed the challenge.

"How is your magic different from witches and wizards?" Harry asked, remembering his question from the orphanage.

"We do not use something so hindering as a wand," Bogrod spat. "Our magic comes from within. We infuse our purpose into our actions, magnifying them to the point of excellence. Whether we smelt armour and weapons, fight, or manage vaults, goblins are superior because we mean what we do; there is no foolish wand waving or incantations."

Harry ignored the jab at wizards to analyze the goblin's words. So intent was their secret, the very thing that fueled Harry's own magic. There had to be something else, some key to becoming powerful.

The cart slowed as it veered around another corner. Harry let the momentum slide him to the other end of the cart. It was such an exhilarating feeling, to move so swiftly that his stomach would not settle. Harry could not wait to learn to fly, even if it was with a broom.

"Vault 687," Bogrod announced as the cart screeched to a stop. "This vault was your parents'. They left your inheritance inside."

Thinking of his parents made Harry feel sick. He wanted to hate them for leaving him at an orphanage. But it was that bastard Voldemort's fault, not theirs. If only they had been stronger, he may still have had parents.

Harry peered inside the vault as Bogrod opened it. His first impression was that no one could possibly need so much gold. That was, until he realized he knew nothing about how the currency system worked in the Wizarding World. Harry said as much to the goblin.

"Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, seventeen Sickles to a Galleon," The goblin growled, gesturing to each as he spoke.

Harry stared dazedly. So apparently Galleons were a lot and he had _tons_ of those.

"How much will I need for school?"

"Roughly seventy-five Galleons, Mr. Potter."

Harry tried to analyze that in his head. Books could be a bit expensive, but robes and a wand must certainly cost more.

"Could I get double that, Bogrod?" Harry asked.

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Also, if you ever need more, mail us. We shall provide you means to prove your identity to obtain more gold."

Harry grinned, helping to scoop the galleons into a small bag, marveling as the bag never got heavier nor got bigger. He reentered the cart with a grin on his face and a full bag of coins in his hand.

"The quickest way up is to turn at the corner down here, Mr. Potter," Bogrod said, starting the cart once again. The cart raced into the darkness as they plunged further down. The cart had been at full speed for just a few seconds when a loud siren started blaring from the pocket in Bogrod's coat.

"Fuck," he muttered, slowing the cart to a stop before turning to Harry.

"Get out," He barked as Harry scrambled hastily to comply. "That challenge we talked about has been accepted. You will wait here and not move."

Harry nodded reluctantly, disappointed that he was not being taken along. "Where is the thief?"

"On one of the upper levels, the lower security vaults. No thief could ever hope to get near these vaults," Bogrod boasted.

Harry snickered but said nothing as he watched the goblin shoot off. That arrogance would come back to bite the goblins on the arse one day. Harry surveyed the area. He was standing in front of Vault 711. He could see the turn the goblin had been talking about. Harry sighed and sat down near the back wall.

Suddenly, a searing pain shot through his head, causing him to slap a hand to his forehead and cry out in alarm. The pain was centered in the scar on his forehead, a scar that he had gained in a jungle gym "accident." Or at least that is what he previously had thought. Why was the scar hurting this badly?

Looking around frantically, Harry spotted a dark figure down a ways from him. Harry staggered to his feet, the pain more intense as he looked upon the figure. Against his better judgment, Harry walked towards it.

The figure was tall, wearing black robes and a dark cloak with the hood pulled up. No features were visible in the dim light, but long white fingers traced the door to Vault 713. Harry gasped; this was the thief! How on earth did the figure get down here?

The figure's head turned in his direction. Harry moaned inaudibly as the pain in his scar hit a crescendo. He could just barely make out two red eyes from within the hood. Slowly, the figure raised its hand towards its face, raising one skeletal finger to make a shushing motion. Harry nodded faintly. He was shaking like a leaf and this was a challenge, was it not?

"Good boy," the figure whispered, turning its attention back towards the door. Harry watched with bated breath as the white hand traced patterns onto the door. A soft clicking sound was heard and the door opened with a deep groan.

The figure growled in displeasure. Whatever it was looking for was not there anymore. Harry bit the side of his cheek as the pain in his forehead worsened even further. His hand had not left his forehead since the first spike of pain. The figure retreated from the vault, allowing the door to close with a thud. The figure stood silently before suddenly disappearing.

Harry exhaled loudly, the pain in his forehead subsiding. That man, creature – whatever it was – had scared him. Even now –

Harry's thoughts were silenced suddenly as a hand grasped his hair and violently pulled backwards; at the same time, an arm wrapped around his neck, silencing the surprised cry threatening to break through. The pain in his scar was worse than ever. Surely there was no pain worse than this - 

"Remember our little agreement, boy," The figure hissed in his ear. "I would hate to have to kill you now."

Harry nodded swiftly, as well as the arm around his neck would allow. He was in no position to do anything else. The arm constricting his breathing loosened slightly.

"Not so hard, is it?" The voice whispered, its breath tickling Harry's ear and sending shudders down his spine. "You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Harry listened to the figure – one that he could almost assure himself was male – and his words. The hand that had been previously digging into his scalp was now massaging it, almost as if in apology.

"I must go, but I shall see you again, Harry Potter. Of that, you can be certain."

And the figure was gone again, seemingly for good this time. Harry gasped for air. Who was this person? How could they tell it was him in the dark?

Harry sighed shakily, making his way back to where the goblin had left him. He had promised to stay quiet. In all honesty, he would not have told anyway; the goblins issued the challenge. If someone could get away with it, how was it any of Harry's business?

But the figure – it had been so dangerous, so powerful, everything that Harry wanted to be. Everything that Harry _would_ be.

Harry stayed quiet as the goblin, moody from allowing a thief to escape, came back to take him to the top. Harry silently made his way through Gringott's entryway, towards the doors that McGonagall had asked him to meet her at. She was already waiting for him, eyeing a blundering wizard with displeasure.

Harry's mind drifted back to the figure's last words: ' _I must go, but I shall see you again, Harry Potter. Of that, you can be certain_.'

Despite the foreboding tone the figure's words had possessed, Harry shivered in anticipation; he couldn't wait.


	4. Friends? That's New

Professor McGonagall sniffed with displeasure as a wizard fumbled for his vault key before nodding to Harry and walking out of the bank. Harry followed her quietly, still overcoming his shock at what had happened in the depths of Gringotts. His heart, minutes removed from the incident, still raced from adrenaline. He shook his head slightly to tune into the professor's words.

"…we ought to make our way back to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, Mr. Potter; it is mid-afternoon and the Alley has become rather crowded."

Looking around, Harry realized that she was right; Diagon Alley was ridiculously crowded. Harry had been maneuvering through the crowd in his daze. Still, there was one place he simply could not wait to go to.

"Can we get my wand first?" Harry asked pleadingly, ignoring the slight growling of his own stomach. What was food compared to a _wand_?

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, perhaps to hide a smile at his exuberance. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Ollivanders is on the way to the Leaky Cauldron at least."

Harry grinned; he did not care if he seemed to be acting childishly – it was a bloody wand! Obtaining a wand would prove what he had always known; he was superior, to all muggles at the very least. He could do things that they could not already, but with a wand…his power would seem infinite compared to them.

Harry's mind however went back to the encounter with the figure near Vault 713; that person had not drawn their wand once and seemed _far_ more powerful than him. Those long fingers had moved gracefully along the door and it had opened, as if the figure's sheer will was enough to open it. No words had been spoken. No outward sign of magic, just like Harry's own – at least up until this point in his life.

'I'll never give up what I already do.' Harry decided. 'It seems to be special even amongst witches and wizards. But I will become superior with a wand as well.'

"Here we are, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked up at the tall, narrow building in front of him. It was a bit on the shabby side, but he could make out the words "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." in faded golden letters. A cushion was placed in front of one of the shop windows with a narrow stick similar to Professor McGonagall's laying in the middle.

A small bell sound rang throughout the shop as Harry opened the door. It seemed magical; the noise flittered around as if moving around the store. Harry could not stop the small smile from forming on his face; magic was brilliant, even in small things like a song.

Looking around, the shop seemed much more spacious inside; perhaps that was because of how many narrow boxes were lining the shelves behind a sturdy wooden counter. Harry breathed in, enjoying the smell of the shop; it was similar to a well-used bookstore. Was that magic? He couldn't be sure, but it was comforting. Harry felt welcome, even _accepted_ for the first time in his life.

"Welcome! How may I…ah."

Harry swiveled his head in the direction of the voice. Standing near the back shelves was a thin old man. He had white hair that reached his shoulders, but the man's silvery eyes were shining from the back of the shop.

The man promptly dropped the thin boxes he was holding, walking swiftly past the counter to stand directly in front of Harry.

It perturbed Harry slightly to notice that the man had yet to blink. The man's silver eyes were wide, scrutinizing every inch of Harry's face. The man's hand grasped Harry's left shoulder in a vice. Harry, becoming more uncomfortable with each passing moment, tried to step back.

"Ah," the man breathed again, his hand shaking Harry slightly.

"You are scaring the boy, Ollivander!" Professor McGonagall snapped.

The man, Ollivander seemed to snap out of his daze, blinking twice to Harry's relief.

"I am Garrick Ollivander, Harry Potter. I have been wondering when I would see you – looking forward to it, I dare say. I am so very honoured to make your acquaintance, of course."

The man held out his hand, having since dropped from Harry's shoulder, which Harry accepted. "Nice to meet you too, sir. I'm here to –"

"To get a wand, naturally," Ollivander whispered with a faint smile.

Harry nodded back, wondering if he had ever met a more eccentric man before.

"Let's get started then!" Ollivander said eagerly, slapping his hands together, "What is your wand arm, Mr. Potter?"

"Erm – I guess it'd be my right one." Harry said, lifting said arm slightly.

"Good! Now, I'll just take some measurements…"

 _'Some measurements?'_ Harry thought incredulously, ' _Maybe, but how on earth does my nose length factor in_?'

Four sets of tape measures were zooming around his body, measuring places that Harry did not even know he had. He stood there bemusedly, just trying to focus on the magic of the process.

"Enough of that," Ollivander said distractedly as he scoured over a sheet of parchment. He waved his arm and sent the tape measures flying back to the counter.

' _Maybe magic without a wand is more common than I first thought_.' Harry mused.

"You do have some unnaturally long fingers for your age, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, looking up from the parchment to wink at Harry, "I dare say that's a good sign for you."

"Erm – no sir." Harry said. How would something like that matter? "I have no idea what that means."

"Studies have found that there is a direct correlation to magical aptitude and finger length, Mr. Potter." Ollivander said, waggling his fingers mysteriously in Harry's direction. "However, that is not necessarily a sign of a strong witch or wizard; the harder one works –"

"The more they'll get out of it." Harry finished. Ollivander nodded, walking forward with a pleased smile on his aged face.

"So basically just do what I already planned to do," Harry murmured quietly.

"And what just do you plan, Mr. Potter?" Ollivander asked curiously.

Harry smirked. "To be the best."

Ollivander laughed at that. "Oh, Professor McGonagall, you may have a Slytherin under your care, today!"

Professor McGonagall looked none too pleased to be considering that.

"Slytherin?" Harry asked.

"Don't you worry a thing about it, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, patting Harry on the shoulder, "Now! Let's get to uniting you with your wand. You know, I remember every single wand I've ever sold."

"Really?"

"All 41,916 of them," Ollivander affirmed with a pleased smile, "Professor, nine and a half inches, made of fir, dragon heartstring core, a bit on the stiff side, correct?"

Professor McGonagall nodded curtly.

Harry bit back a laugh. Not bad, not bad at all.

"As for your parents, Lily and James Potter," Ollivander continued, his voice softening, "well – Lily, beautiful girl she was - willow…such a good wand for Charm work."

"And James'," Ollivander's gaze flickered to Professor McGonagall. "Mahogany, a bit of a prodigy in your field, Professor."

Professor McGonagall nodded swiftly, her eyes glistening with emotion. Harry turned away, looking toward the boxes in the back. He would not allow himself to think on it; his parents were gone – it would not do to worry about them.

Ollivander moved past him towards a shelf to the left, grabbing boxes as he went. Harry raised his eyebrows when Ollivander returned to the counter, carrying so many boxes that the man's head was hidden from sight. In fact, he seemed to be balancing wand boxes on his head as well.

"Now," Ollivander said, allowing the boxes to fall and spread out over the counter, "Let's try to find you a wand, hmm? Try this one, Rowan wood, eleven inches, with a core of dragon heartstring. Quite springy. Go ahead and give it a try."

Harry had no idea how to give it a try, but took the wand from Ollivander. The wand did not feel special, so he reached out to hand the wand back to Ollivander.

SMASH!

"Bloody hell!" Professor McGonagall swore, swishing her own wand to vanish the glass. The window panes in the front of the shop had exploded when Harry raised the wand. Harry was starting wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, Ollivander, I did not mean to do that at all." Harry said shakily. This was the first time his magic had ever acted beyond his control.

"Not a problem, easily fixed," Ollivander murmured, looking at Harry curiously. With a flick of his wand, the windows were replaced.

"I do think we have learned that a dragon heartstring core is out of the question though," Ollivander muttered, flicking his wand at the counter, sending several boxes back to their shelves.

"Try this – maple and phoenix feather, nine and three quarter's inches. Rigid. Go on."

That one did not work either, but thankfully did not produce the explosive effects of the first wand.

And so the hunt began. Harry tried wand after wand, but none were working. Even more, none even felt comfortable to hold; they all seemed heavy and obtrusive in his hand.

An ebony wand produced some feeble magic, levitating one of the boxes a few inches off the counter.

A yew wand later set the very same counter aflame. It embarrassed Harry to see his magic reacting with these wands; he could not control any of it, something that had not happened in a long time. Ollivander did not share Harry's impatience; instead, the man seemed to be enjoying himself more and more with each failed wand.

"I think we've discovered the length that suits you, Mr. Potter. That is progress." Ollivander said reassuredly after an ash wand jumped out of Harry's hand on its own.

"Really?" Harry asked. He had not really been paying attention to the length of the wands he was testing; there were just so many of them – fifty at this point at least. Professor McGonagall seemed to be growing restless as well.

"Ollivander, you must be slipping; you got my wand correct on the fourth try." Professor McGonagall said dryly.

"My dear, I must say that you are much more transparent than Mr. Potter here." Ollivander shot back, shoving a mahogany wand into Harry's hand.

Professor McGonagall clicked her tongue but said nothing else.

Finally, there was only one box left on the counter.

"Beech wood, Mr. Potter, with a unicorn tail hair for its core. Go ahead and try it."

Harry did, not surprised in the least when the wand did nothing. He set the wand back on the counter with a sigh.

"Thanks for trying, sir. I don't really need a wand anyway…"

"Nonsense," Ollivander interrupted, his eyes alight with intrigue, "Every witch or wizard needs a wand. Even if you were capable of wandless magic, you will always be able to cast more strongly with a wand."

Wandless? So there was a name for what he could do?

"If worst comes to worst, I shall make you a customized wand," Ollivander carried on, "But I still have some of the more unusual combinations to try."

Harry watched the man walk down the shelves, grabbing two or three boxes along the way. Suddenly, the man stopped in front of a black box.

Harry could hear the man mumbling to himself, but could not make out the words. Ollivander instantly dropped the boxes he was holding before eagerly snatching the black box off the shelf, walking back to the front of the shop. His eyes were wide again, staring fixedly at Harry's forehead.

"Try this one."

"What is it?"

"Just try it," Ollivander breathed impatiently, gesturing wildly with his right hand.

Harry shrugged and opened the box. Inside laid a shiny, dark brown wand. The handle curved downwards, providing a nice spot for Harry to grasp.

Instantly, Harry gasped, feeling heat rush through him. He could hear his heart beating, the whoops of joy from Ollivander and Professor McGonagall's sigh of relief. He was not paying attention to any of that, however. In his hand, the wand pulsed pleasantly, still sending warmth up his arm.

Dark red waves of magic began to sprout from the end of the wand. It left no aftereffects, but Harry could feel the waves run over the hem of his trousers and his trainers. His skin seemed to be glowing as well, as if the warmth was visible. Harry realized that he was laughing. Shaking his head to clear the sensations, he finally centered his attention back to Ollivander. He could not stop himself from grinning though.

"So very curious," Ollivander murmured, his gaze flickering between the wand and Harry's scar. "The wand you are holding, Mr. Potter, is an unusual combination. Holly and phoenix feather. What makes this wand even more unusual, well…"

The man took two steps forward, invading Harry's space once again. Ollivander reached up, placing two fingers on the lightning-esque scar residing on his forehead.

"The phoenix that produced the feather for your wand gave only one other feather; that feather resides in the wand of Lord Voldemort."

Professor McGonagall inhaled quickly from behind him, but Harry the news about his wand did not upset him; who cared who else had is wand's core? He now had a wand, one that worked well; he was happy. Why should he feel any other way?

"Yes," Ollivander continued sorrowfully, "I sold that wand to the man. Of course, he was only a boy at the time. If I had known what that little boy was capable of…"

Ollivander trailed off, looking Harry in the eyes. Harry stared back, wondering what the man had to say.

"You will do great things, Mr. Potter. I am sure of it. The wand will be seven Galleons."

Harry reached into his pocket to retrieve the gold coins but paused when a sudden thought entered his mind. Why should he only have one wand? If he were ever in real danger, wouldn't a backup wand come in handy?

"Er – Ollivander, could I possibly get another wand?"

Ollivander's eyebrows shot up. "Why would you want an extra wand?"

Harry grinned, "Two is always better than one."

"Mr. Potter, we do not have time!" Professor McGonagall scolded; Harry ignored her, keeping his focus on Ollivander.

"That is true," Ollivander admitted, "but the bond between wand and wizard cannot be duplicated. I could certainly sell you another wand, but it would not work nearly as well as the one you now possess."

Harry nodded. He would just have to work on alternate ways to defend himself.

Harry paid and followed Professor McGonagall out of the shop, holding his wand like a treasure. He did not even know how to use it yet, but it was worth more to him than his Gringotts vault.

"Where to now, Professor?" Harry asked, trying to avoid bumping into people in the crowded alley.

"The Leaky Cauldron, Potter. I cannot speak for you, but I could use lunch today."

Harry agreed. His stomach was rumbling and he had skipped breakfast.

The Leaky Cauldron was more crowded now than it was in the morning. Harry ducked his head, hoping to avoid starting a stampede; if all these people realized who he was all at once…

"Afternoon, Tom," Professor McGonagall greeted, "We would like to have ourselves some lunch before continuing our shopping."

Tom nodded eagerly, smiling toothlessly at Harry, "And just what can I get for the two of you?"

"Some sandwiches and tea would be fine, Tom, thank you."

"Do you have a place to sit that's not so, er – visible?" Harry asked. He would never be able to eat if all those people kept staring at him.

"Of course. I'll get you two a booth in the back."

The booth suited Harry perfectly. He sat with his back to the main room of the Leaky Cauldron to make sure no one recognized him.

Tom arrived shortly after seating them, levitating a tray filled with sandwiches and a jug of tea in front of him.

With quick thanks, Harry grabbed the nearest sandwich and started eating. The sandwich was great, much better than the trash at the orphanage. 'There's actual meat in this sandwich; that might be it.' Harry mused.

"…but how would anyone be able to break into Gringotts?"

Harry snapped to attention at that. It seemed that the news of the break in earlier had finally made its way to the Leaky Cauldron. Tom and Professor McGonagall were discussing it.

"I have no idea, Professor. Nothing was taken, however. How the criminal got away, I'll never know."

"This happened when we were there?" Harry asked, feigning ignorance. The memory of the mysterious figure, still fresh on his mind, flickered through his head again."

"Indeed. I cannot believe anyone was able to get past the goblins." Professor McGonagall replied.

"They are arrogant about their defenses. Perhaps the defenses are not as grand as they would like us to believe?" Harry said slyly. He knew the Professor had not forgotten his conversation with the goblin earlier.

"Mr. Potter, you are not stealing from Gringotts!" Professor McGonagall said sternly, making Harry have to hide a smile. 'Too easy.'

Tom seemed puzzled by the last topic, but snapped out of it quickly. "Mr. Potter, have you ever had any wizarding sweets?"

"No," Harry said, surprised at Tom's question. To be honest, he rarely had sweets at all. The last time he could remember was that small chocolate bar several years ago.

"Here, then," Tom reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a bright blue box, "Chocolate Frog, on the house."

Harry caught the proffered item, turning it over to read the label. Sure enough, "Chocolate Frog" was printed across the front. What truly disturbed Harry was the fact that the box was vibrating in his hand.

Harry thanked the man, despite his caution with the package. Tom smiled back before returning to work.

"Alright, what is this thing?" Harry asked, holding the blue box up to Professor McGonagall.

"A Chocolate Frog," She replied, a small smile forming on her face.

"Funny," Harry said sarcastically, "But really, why is it moving?"

"It is a charm on the chocolate allowing animate movement. Rest assured, the frog inside is purely chocolate." Professor McGonagall said dryly.

Harry was relieved but would not admit as much. Instead, he ripped open the five-sided box and snatched the frog inside. Eyeing the squirming frog dubiously, Harry nibbled at one of the legs.

'Not bad at all,' thought Harry happily, taking a much larger bite from the frog's midsection.

"There should be a card in the packaging. Some wizard children collect them." McGonagall said as Harry finished the last of the frog.

Harry shrugged, reaching back into the box to find a small card. An aged wizard appeared on the front with a long, white beard and hair. The man's blue eyes shined brightly behind half-moon spectacles and the man smiled pleasantly from the picture.

"Albus Dumbledore" the card read.

"Wait," Harry said suddenly, "This is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, right?"

"Correct, Mr. Potter. That is my boss, though he would hate to be called such."

Harry flipped the card over to read the cursive script:

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Currently Headmaster of Hogwarts_

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

_'Huh,'_ Harry thought. This wizard, the greatest of modern times, would be one of his teachers. That alone was brilliant. If he could get this professor to teach him personally...

Flipping the card back over, Harry was quick enough to see the visage of Dumbledore walk out of frame.

"Things move in magical pictures? Wicked." Harry smiled.

"Well said," Professor McGonagall said amusedly, "Now, let us get back to shopping. We need to get you some robes and your school books."

Harry nodded eagerly, jumping from his seat. He was looking forward to both; the books would teach him magic and the robes would help him identify as a wizard. He wanted to leave the muggle world for good as soon as possible. A sudden tug, however, broke his train of thought.

"'Cuse me," A little boy mumbled, tugging at the hem of Harry's shirt, "But are you Harry Potter?"

Harry sighed, looking around. Most people were engrossed in their own conversations, but two adults were starting at him with smiles on their faces. It seemed a mother and father had noticed him and sent their boy to meet him.

It bugged Harry, but it was certainly better than them shouting out his name. Besides, the little boy had done nothing wrong, right? The kid just wanted to meet a _celebrity._

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling for the boy's sake, "What is your name?"

"Michael," The boy breathed, his eyes going wide at Harry's admission, "I'm four."

"And I'm eleven." Harry shot back. Kneeling down, Harry reached out his hand, "I've got to go, but it was really nice meeting you, Michael."

The little boy ignored Harry's outstretched hand. Instead, the boy reached out and hugged Harry.

Harry grunted. Damn kid. Damn those parents, too.

"I'll see you again sometime." Harry said, forcing a smile as he stood, "Bye."

With that, Harry took off in the direction Professor McGonagall was standing in. The Professor's eyes seemed a bit misty.

"That was a really nice thing you just did. I must admit myself proud of your actions, Mr. Potter."

"I was annoyed," Harry scowled. "But it wasn't the kid's fault. His damn parents sent him over to meet me."

"Language, Mr. Potter. Nevertheless, you did not turn the boy away. I daresay you might have made him happy."

"Still, I guess it's better than them shouting my name," Harry sighed, not really paying attention to Professor McGonagall. "That would have been horrible."

"Indeed," replied Professor McGonagall, looking down at Harry with amusement. "Let's continue with our shopping, shall we? I believe you still require a set of robes."

Madam Malkins' was a fairly large shop at the north end of the Alley. Various sets of robes were displayed in the windows. Harry eyed one red robe distastefully; it was a vivid red that was just too much… _colour_ for someone to actually wear.

Inside, there was more of the same; robes were lined up everywhere in an assortment of colours. At the counter a squat witch stood, smiling pleasantly.

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall," The witch said, "How can I be of assistance today?"

"I've brought a new student out to acquire his school supplies Madam Malkin," replied Professor McGonagall, "I'm sure you can help with this endeavor."

"Of course, of course!" Madam Malkin said, beckoning Harry over. "Come along to the back of the shop sweetie, and I'll take some measurements."

Harry followed the squat witch beyond a black curtain to an area with multiple stools and mirrors. Two people already occupied the area – a witch pinning a black robe to a boy with brown hair.

Harry stepped onto the stool Madam Malkin was gesturing at, standing alongside the taller boy. Older, too, if Harry was correct.

"Getting fitted for robes is just so much fun," The boy grimaced, winking once Harry's head had emerged from the robe Madam Malkin had thrown over his head. "I'm Cedric, by the way. Cedric Diggory."

"Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Madam Malkin gasped, standing up to look at Harry. For his own part, Harry stared back warily. Malkin finally smiled, patted Harry's cheek, and went back to her measurements. Harry threw a disbelieving look toward Cedric, who chuckled.

"I reckon you get a lot of that."

"More than I would like," Harry murmured. "So you go to Hogwarts, right?"

Cedric nodded. "I'm going into my fourth year. Hufflepuff."

Cedric threw in that last word, acting as if it should mean something to Harry.

"What is a Hufflepuff, exactly? I heard Slytherin earlier, too. Do you know what that is?

"They are two of the houses of Hogwarts," Cedric grinned, his grey eyes sparkling. "Named after the Four Founders of the school." Seeing Harry's puzzled look, he continued, "All students are sorted their first day at Hogwarts into one of the four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

"Oh," Harry said blankly, "So what classes do you take?"

"I take all the core stuff," said Cedric. "But I'm taking some electives, too. I'll be taking Ancient Runes and Arithmancy with all the core classes."

"Looking forward to it?" Harry asked.

Cedric shrugged. "As much as you can be looking forward to doing math," He joked. "But the rewards of learning that stuff are worth it."

Harry nodded, agreeing with the older boy. Knowledge was usually worth a bit of pain – even math.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, Harry…where have you been? No one has heard anything about you since…well – " Cedric finished awkwardly, looking worriedly at Harry.

Harry was smiling, though. This was the first person to actually empathize with his feelings on the subject. At least there was that.

"I've been living in a muggle orphanage," Harry replied. "I only learned that magic existed today, to be honest."

Really? That's…wow, that doesn't seem right at all," Cedric said wide-eyed, "And an orphanage, you say? That is outrageous! Any wizarding family would be estatic to take you in! Whose decision was it to put you in an orphanage?"

It was Harry's turn to shrug. "I don't know, but I'm not too happy with it, either."

Harry definitely was not happy with it. If what Cedric said was anything to go by, someone had to have made that decision. And because of that decision, Harry had been forced to suffer a muggle orphanage.

"Anyway, how are classes?" Harry asked, abandoning that train of thought before it ruined his mood.

"They are great," Cedric beamed, "Transfiguration is brilliant. We learned how to turn a lizard into a golden snitch replica a few months back."

"Golden snitch?" Harry asked.

"Oh I forgot, you don't know about Quidditch!" Cedric moaned. "I'll have to teach you; there is no way I could leave you to enter Hogwarts without knowing what Quidditch is!"

Harry listened to the boy explain the concept of four balls being in play, of flying brooms that sped through the sky, of the three golden hoops raised into the air at varying heights. Harry grew more eager to watch a game once the concept of bludgers was explained to him; how could a sport so seemingly dangerous not be fun to watch?

"I'm done, Cedric. You can take the robe off, now."

Cedric nodded, jumping off the stool after taking off the robe.

"It was great to meet you, Harry. I'll see you at Hogwarts, okay?"

Cedric held out his hand. Grinning, Harry shook hands with the older boy, "Sounds good. Nice to meet you too, Cedric."

And with that, the boy left, leaving Harry to contemplate his new…friend? That was new. He never was interested in making friends at the orphanage; all the kids were annoying and selfish, but Cedric had been nice, understanding Harry's plight and ignorance. The boy had even helped him understand what seemed to be the most popular wizarding sport. That was a kindness no one had ever afforded him.

Beyond Cedric, though, it seemed that the Wizarding World was different, in a very good sense. The boy earlier had hugged him. Professor McGonagall was helping him get his school supplies. For once, Harry felt wanted, like he belonged somewhere. It made his heart flutter, not that he would ever admit it. Still, he could not help the small smile that was on his face.

"I'm done, dear. If you want to return up front, I can check you out for these robes."

Harry hopped down and walked back up front. The pair paid for the robes and left the shop.

"All that is left now, Mr. Potter, are the books. Therefore, our final stop is Flourish and Blotts."

Flourish and Blotts was only a few buildings down from Madam Malkins'. Harry grinned. This was another shop he had been looking forward to visiting.

Inside the shop, Harry was in awe. He had been to bookstores before, but there were so many. About magic!

"The aisles on direct magical affects are on the left side, Mr. Potter. That is where you will find your Defense, Transfiguration, and Charms books. Over to the right are the historical books. In the back you will find books on potion making. If you can handle the books, I shall gather your potions set from the Apothecary a few shops over."

With that, Harry was left alone in book paradise. Deciding to gather the books as fast as possible so he could read a bit before the Professor returned, Harry rushed towards the nearest section.

Harry quickly learned that there was a magical ordering of the bookshelves. It was almost ridiculously easy to find his books. Harry quickly paid before taking his large set of books over to the area where some tables were set out. Each of the tables were already occupied, so Harry headed towards the nearest one, hoping the boy sitting there would share the space.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, but there is nowhere else to sit," Harry said apologetically. "May I sit here to read a bit?"

The boy looked up. He had a blond head of hair, blue eyes, and sharp features; Harry believed the boy to be around the same age as him. Would it be too much to hope for two friends in one day?

"Not at all," The boy said, nodding his head towards the empty chair opposite him. "My name's Malfoy, by the way. Draco Malfoy."

Harry smiled, setting his books down so that he could reach his hand across the table, "Nice to meet you, Draco, I'm Harry Potter."

Draco's eyes went wide for a moment, flicking up towards Harry's forehead, but he regained his composure quickly. Draco reached out, shaking Harry's hand once before releasing.

"The pleasure is mine," Draco said, eyeing Harry closely. "It is not every day one gets to meet a celebrity."

Harry grimaced. "Don't call me that. I only learned I was one today."

"Really? I don't see how you could not know, considering your past," Draco said snidely.

Harry only laughed in response. "That's the funny thing, Draco; I did not know anything about 'my past' either."

"And how is that possible?"

"I grew up in a muggle orphanage," Harry said simply.

If Draco's eyes had been wide before, they were bulging from their sockets.

"Pardon me…but, what?"

Harry grinned, enjoying the other boy's confusion, "I grew up in a muggle orphanage, Draco. I knew nothing about magic until this morning."

Draco was gaping. Apparently he did not believe that was possible.

"How did that happen?" Draco snarled, recovering from the shock. "How were you left at a bloody muggle orphanage? You, coming from a pureblood family; it is unspeakable!"

"Pureblood?" Harry asked.

"It is a term that describes a witch or wizard's ancestry," Draco explained. "Being a pureblood means that no muggle blood has tainted your family. I believe your mother was a muggleborn, so that makes you a halfblood, but still! You come from a pureblood family, one with a lot of influence and money. How was it that you were left at an orphanage in the muggle world?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But I know that I won't be going back for long."

"It must be horrible there," Draco sympathized. "No one deserves that."

"It's bad," Harry agreed. "I knew at a young age that I was better than the others at the orphanage. I could do things they could not do."

Draco raised his eyebrows at that, seeming impressed. "Muggles are scum, Potter. And you are right, they cannot do the things we can. They are jealous of us, even if they do not know of our existence. They know they are not capable of anything extraordinary."

Harry nodded, agreeing again with the boy across from him. "I've been living in a world that does not fit me. I don't want to return there, but what choice do I have? I've never even gotten a birthday present before, for Christ's sake."

"I'll talk to my father about it," Draco replied, seemingly appalled at the idea of not having birthday presents. "He will not allow a wizard such as you to be abused in such a fashion."

"I'm not being abused, Draco," Harry said.

"Putting a wizard with lowly muggles is abuse, Harry," Draco shot back, making Harry smile.

"Thanks. I really hate it there."

"No problem," Draco said stiffly. "Are you looking forward to Hogwarts?"

Harry stared incredulously.

"Right, dumb question," Draco admitted. "Do you know what house you will be in?"

"I don't know how that is decided. Do you?" asked Harry.

"Of course," Draco said, finally closing the book that he had been reading before Harry had sat down.

"You do know the four houses?"

Harry nodded quickly.

"Right. Hufflepuffs are known for being hard-working, kind, and that's about it," Draco said, ticking "Hufflepuff" off on his fingers. "Ravenclaw is where all the obsessively smart people go. You know, the ones who value books over food and sleep."

Harry laughed. He was not that bad with books, but it was close.

"Gryffindor," Draco continued with a scowl, "is where the 'brave' go. Personally, I feel that they are more accurately the ones who are brave in meaningless situations. You know, the type that loud and brash."

Harry understood completely. There were a lot of "tough" kids at the orphanage. Tough, that is, until Harry had set them straight.

"And that leaves Slytherin," Draco smirked. "That's the house I will be in. Slytherins are known for their cunning and ambitious personalities. We are the ones who don't just talk about being brave or strong; we are those things."

Harry nodded faintly. "Back at Ollivanders, he said that I may be a Slytherin based on something I had said."

Draco grinned, "You should be one, Potter; between the two of us, we would rule Hogwarts in no time."

Harry smirked back. "That sounds good to me, Draco. I need to go though, unfortunately. I see Professor McGonagall."

Professor McGonagall had just entered the shop, her sharp eyes searching for Harry.

"Not a problem," Draco said smoothly. "It was great to meet you, Harry. I must admit that meeting you has been a dream of mine for a while."

"Really?" Harry asked with a smile. "Well, I hope it lived up to your expectations."

"It has," Draco said. "I will talk to my father about getting you out of that orphanage for good. Do you mind if I write to you?"

"Not at all," Harry said, positively beaming. "It will make this next month go much faster at the very least."

"Fantastic," Draco smiled, holding his hand out for another handshake. "I must be returning as well. My mother expects me back at the Manor at 5."

"Manor?" Harry asked.

Draco smirked. "Let's just say that we would have plenty of room to offer you, Harry."

Harry grinned back, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

"There you are, Potter. Are you ready to return?" Professor McGonagall asked, shrinking Harry's recently purchased books.

Harry reluctantly nodded, offering Draco a wave before heading towards the exit.

By the time the two had entered a bus to return to the orphanage, Harry was pleasantly exhausted. Today had been the best day of his life by far. He had gotten a proper meal with chocolate for desert; he had gotten a wand and some robes. Hell, he had even made _friends_.

The sun had begun to set as the bus came to a rickety stop outside the orphanage. Professor McGonagall helped Harry take his things upstairs to his room before handing Harry a train ticket.

"This will allow you to ride the train to Hogwarts. You will need to go to King's Cross. To find the train, you must pass the barrier between platforms nine and ten."

"And how exactly does that work?" Harry asked, eyeing the ticket reading "9 ¾".

"Just walk through." Professor McGonagall said with a smile.

The two shook hands before the Professor turned to leave. She paused just before opening the door.

"Before I go, I must recommend that you read your potions textbook before school starts. The professor can be…hard to deal with at times." Professor McGonagall said.

And with that, she left, leaving Harry in a world that seemed monotone compared to the world of colour, sounds and _magic_ that he had just learned about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I've gotten a few of you reading this story, huh? You can expect daily updates for a while - most of the story is already written. Let me know what you think!


	5. Dining with the Malfoys

"You better keep reading, Potter. You wouldn't want to look like the fucking moron that you are at your new school," Stewart, a tall, reedy boy snidely said. The boy towered over Harry as he sat and ate his breakfast, a book open to the right of his plate.

Harry bit back a retort, outwardly cool but inwardly fuming. Word had gotten out around the orphanage of Harry's scholarship offer. The kids, being the selfish set of pricks that they were, decided to torment Harry over it. None of them had tried to lay a hand on him though, Harry wickedly thought, at least after the first kid. The boy had roughly grabbed Harry the day after returning from Diagon Alley with a fist raised. That boy was also now wearing a cast on his arm.

It would not do to keep injuring those trying to bully him, however; the caretakers of the orphanage would eventually punish him for it, loathe as they were to step in and actually do something. Instead, Harry had taken to reading his books – the "new" ones – behind a tree outside. The tree was around the corner of the building, an excellent spot to hide from the inhabitants of the orphanage. Harry also kept up his correspondence with Draco in the shade of that single tree.

Speaking of Draco, the young wizard had sent him his latest response earlier that morning. Harry smirked down at his plate. That owl of his was smart; it would not approach him unless he was truly alone. Usually this was as the sun was coming up. Harry was not so slothful to sleep the day away like the rest of the kids. That owl would also disappear for a few hours before returning for Harry's response. Magic was breathtaking, even in the little things.

Harry finished his admittedly poor breakfast and snuck back upstairs, grabbing a pen and a book to write on. From there, Harry went outside to read Draco's newest letter.

It was a bit chilly outside this morning, but Harry's hooded jacket easily kept him warm. It was probably the only article of clothing he owned that he liked. Black, soft, and with a large hood to help mask who he was from the other kids – what was there not to like?

Settling down, Harry reached into his pocket to remove the thick parchment. Unfolding it, Harry read Draco's elegant script:

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you for your latest letter. It has been a bit dull around the Manor these past few days so your correspondence was most welcome. To answer your last question, from what I understand, spell crafting is not taught at Hogwarts. Indeed, it is a very advanced category of magic that requires a thorough understanding of the magical affects you wish to accomplish and even more research into wand lore, magical movements, incantations, and so many other things I cannot even think of. Why do you ask? It is not something either of us could even consider doing at our current educational level anyway._

_How have your readings been going? I hope you took my warning about my godfather to heart; he is a tough teacher; indeed, he taught me rudimentary potions for years. Even then, he was tough to impress. With only a week until school starts, there is not too much time to prepare for school to start._

_Father has been preoccupied at the Ministry. Minister Fudge relies on my father's advice and has kept him particularly busy this week. As I have stated before, he is aware of your situation and it working towards finding an easy solution. However, this brings me to what I need to ask you…_

_Could you by any chance meet me in Diagon Alley today around lunchtime? My father wants to meet you. He has informed Minister Fudge that he needs the afternoon off for family matters and will be there with me. If you can make it, just be there; there is no need for a response. We can talk there._

_I shall see you there,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry grinned. All of Draco's letters were like this: lengthy, well-worded, and dripping with formality. Draco had given Harry a bit of a background on how "pureblood" society worked through their correspondence; from what Harry could discern, Draco had been taught many skills from an early age that most children did not even know about. The fact that Draco's father was deeply entrenched into the political world added another wrinkle into Draco's childhood.

Ultimately, however, that was just the type of person Draco was – a person dreaming big, like himself. Bringing his attention back to the letter, Harry could not help his stomach fluttering with excitement. Going to Diagon Alley to meet the Malfoys sounded like _fun_ , much more fun than anything he could do at the orphanage at least.

Draco had been a well of knowledge of the magical world; he had indeed taken Draco's warning to heart about the Potions Professor, but he had read all his books with intense scrutiny. Three times. Each. Making notes in the margins on that third read-through.

Spell crafting was a natural question, he thought, after reading about so many different spells. Harry knew when he had penned that question that it would be over his head, for now at least.

Harry let his mind drift back to his meeting with the Malfoys. He would need money to get to Diagon Alley. That should not be too much of a problem; the adults running the orphanage had a room they left all their valuables in. Getting enough money to sneak out of the orphanage would be a breeze.

With his mind already made up, Harry tucked away the letter, stretching his stiff neck before going back inside. The halls were crowded with rambunctious brats, but that made breaking into the room even easier. With just a wave of his hand and a smirk on his face, Harry unlocked the door and slipped inside.

Bags and purses were all stacked on a large desk to the back wall of the room. A long row of coat hangers lined the wall adjacent to that back wall. With a mischievous grin, Harry contemplated the situation; he would only need a few pounds to get to downtown London and back, but why should he worry about exact totals? Someone could walk in any minute, right? It was better to just…take.

Harry quietly shut the door behind him, masking the large smirk on his face by looking down. His pockets were pleasantly full from his exploits. Now, all he had to do was walk down the block to the bus stop.

Harry grinned, setting off down the hall to the front doors of the orphanage. No one tried to stop him.

* * *

"Hello, again," Tom beamed, setting down the mug he was holding. Harry had entered the Leaky Cauldron with the hood of his jacket up. He was glad that the barman had enough sense not to say his name, especially when he so clearly was trying to avoid attention.

"Hi, Tom," Harry smiled, sitting at the bar with his back to most of the patrons, "I'm here to meet a friend. You, er – you wouldn't happen to have a place I could wait for him, do you?"

Tom nodded eagerly, "I've got a booth in the back with your name on it."

Harry grinned. It was so nice to have people willing to help.

"I hope you aren't being literal," Harry joked, following the barman.

Tom snickered, but did not respond. With a flourish, Tom instead directed him to a booth in the back corner.

"Let me know if you need anything. If you and your friend get hungry, lunch is on the house."

Harry ducked his head modestly. "Thanks, Tom; I really appreciate it."

Tom, grinning from ear to ear, bowed slightly before returning to work. Harry watched him go with a faint smile. Being a celebrity was _awesome_.

A small popping sound grabbed Harry's attention. Looking down, a small note had appeared on the counter top. Picking the note up with a frown, Harry read:

_Harry,_

_My father and I are waiting for you at the entrance to Knockturn Alley. It is right across the way from Madam Malkins'. Meet us there._

_Regards,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry crumpled the note before jamming it into his pants' pocket. He had not noticed Knockturn Alley during his first visit with Professor McGonagall, but finding it should not be a problem. What really puzzled Harry, however, was how the note had appeared. How did Draco know where he was? Even more baffling, how did the note even appear?

' _Magic_ ,' Harry thought amusedly, standing from the booth, ' _Now I have to go bother Tom again._ '

Tom was currently taking some couple's order so Harry retook his seat at the bar to wait for him. Loathe as Harry was to interfere with someone who had been so helpful, Harry called out to the barman as he made his way toward the kitchens.

"Yes Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?"

' _Nice job_ ,' Harry thought sarcastically, rolling his eyes as heads turned swiftly in his direction.

For his part, Tom looked remorseful for his slip, but grinned as the scrape of chairs echoed through the Cauldron. Harry sheepishly lowered his hood, knowing it would not do to look reluctant.

"Sorry," Harry said with a sorrowful sigh, looking out gently at the crowd that was suddenly upon him, "I didn't mean to interrupt your meals."

The crowd swooned at his confession.

"Frederick Browning, Mr. Potter, at your service. This is my wife, Olivia…"

"Dorothy Frankfurt. I'm so pleased to meet you."

"Can I have an autograph, Harry?"

Harry contained his scowl, shaking hands and enduring hugs, outwardly appearing as pleasant as possible. He would, however, draw the line at signing autographs.

"C'mon, you don't want my autograph," Harry said sheepishly, "I'm just a kid, right?"

"No, no, please?" The young woman stuck a piece of parchment and a quill so close to Harry's face that he flinched. With a sigh, he took the items from the woman's grasp and dutifully wrote his name.

The woman squealed when he handed the items back, hugging both to her body as if he had given her a great treasure.

 _'I guess that's what I am to them,'_ Harry thought, trying not to lash out at whoever had just patted him on the back, _'a great big living trophy.'_

"Are you looking forward to Hogwarts, Harry?"

"Definitely," Harry responded to whoever had shouted that, "I've read all my books already."

"Where do you live?"

Harry laughed, inwardly balking at the question. Did they really think he'd answer that?

"That's private, I suppose." Harry's next words were made on a sudden hunch, "Besides, I already receive tons of mail; as honored as I am by you all, I really need a place to get away for a bit, you know?"

"Will you marry me?"

"I'm eleven," Harry answered quickly, his eyes wide as the crowd laughed. "Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind."

"How did you beat You-Know-Who?"

The crowd got quiet and Harry stared in the direction of the question. Finally, an opening to get out of this mess.

"I think it's time for me to go," Harry said, smiling sadly at the crowd. They all protested, but Harry ducked his head and headed toward the bar where Tom watched on with a toothless grin.

"Get me out of here," Harry whispered urgently, "they are crazy."

Tom laughed but brandished his wand and headed towards the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"I am truly sorry about that, Harry," Tom said as the door closed behind them.

"I'm sure," Harry murmured under his breath, trying to memorize the taps Tom was making with his wand. If he did not have to rely on the man to get into Diagon, next time he could avoid a stampede altogether.

With one last tap of Tom's wand, the brick wall opened, revealing the golden swirl of magic that lay behind. Harry smiled once again despite himself. ' _Home again_ ,' Harry thought fondly. The orphanage was nothing compared to this.

"I must go back inside, Harry," Tom said with a smile. "I hope to see you again soon."

Harry matched the barman's smile with a mocking one of his own, pulling the hood of his jacket back up before setting out onto the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.

Madam Malkins' shop was not too far from the Leaky Cauldron, so the entrance to Knockturn Alley should be close. Harry was saved from searching too hard when he noticed a flash of bright blond.

Harry walked up quietly to the other boy. Draco was searching the street with a look of impatience plastered on his face. With a small grin, Harry realized that Draco had not noticed him.

"Hello, Draco," Harry said loudly, clamping a hand onto the other boy's well-tailored shoulder. Draco jumped nearly a mile high, causing Harry to laugh as he pulled his hood down.

"I appreciate the near-heart attack, Potter," Draco scathingly replied, his hand clenched into a fist, "But we must be going."

"Yeah, about that – where's your father?" Harry asked.

"He's waiting in a shop in Knockturn," Draco said, smoothing down his robes, "He decided that it would be better to have our meeting away from prying eyes."

Harry could understand that. Draco had told Harry all about his father, including his time under the former Dark Lord's Imperius Curse. Harry had decided not to hold it against the man; if the Imperius Curse was even half as bad as Draco had described it, there was no way Lucius could have escaped it. Still, most people would rather not see him leave some place alone with the Malfoys.

"That sounds good to me," Harry nodded. "Lead the way, Draco."

Draco gave him a quick smile before walking down the narrow steps that led to Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn was much different than Diagon Alley, Harry noticed. The buildings were much more cramped and the inhabitants were much more…interesting.

A small, old witch was holding a tray of what looked to be human body parts outside a shop. Harry was not squeamish, but he reckoned that those body parts were _not_ given willingly.

"Here we are, Harry: Borgin and Burkes."

Harry looked up from his study of the Alley to see a narrow building, much like the ones on either side. Resisting the urge to shrug, Harry followed Draco inside.

The shop seemed larger inside, though dimly lit. What truly caught Harry's attention though were the objects on display. Forgetting all about Draco, Harry walked up to a glittering jewel sitting on the shelf nearest him.

_Jade of Future Knowledge_

_The Jade of Future Knowledge is a precious jewel derived from the Inner Eye of a Seer that enables its user to view a future even in their life. The knowledge gained will be of interest to the user as the jewel will evaluate the desires of its wielder. A word of caution, however; much like the true visions of a Seer, the memory obtained from the Jade will not show how the memory came to pass. Likewise, the vision may lack details that paint a thorough picture of the future._

_For price and directions of use, ask for Mr. Borgin_

Harry's eyes widened with intrigue. If he were able to use this jewel, perhaps he would be shown how far he was on his path to greatness. Even better, it may show some of the knowledge that would be useful to him. If he could only use the damn thing…

A small, dignified cough interrupted Harry's train of thought. Spinning around, Harry finally took in the other occupants of the room.

Draco was standing where Harry had left him, looking exasperated as hell. Harry bit back a grin, instead noticing the man standing near the stone fireplace.

The man was tall and regal, with hair the same colour as Draco's but much longer, reaching down past his shoulders. The man's face was pale and pointed but handsome. The grey eyes followed Harry's observations sharply, but lacked any danger. Indeed, the man seemed to be scrutinizing Harry as well.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry greeted neutrally, walking to stand in front of the man. For the first time, Harry noticed the cane Lucius Malfoy held within the fold of his robe. The cane was a shiny black, with a fanged snake head as a handle.

"Harry Potter," Mr. Malfoy responded, his eyes locking onto Harry's. "My son has told me much about you. Currently residing in a muggle orphanage, I hear?"

A sharp gasp was heard at the counter. A balding man stood there, his eyes moving rapidly between Harry and Mr. Malfoy. Harry had not noticed the man at first, but upon closer inspection, the man did not seem to be worthy of notice.

"Unfortunately," Harry replied, looking back at Draco's father, "though not because I wish to be there, you understand."

Mr. Malfoy nodded absently, reaching into is robes for a pocket watch. "Will you accompany my son and I back to our Manor, Mr. Potter? The conversation I wish to have deserves more privacy.

The man behind the counter sputtered something about his shop being private, but he became quiet when Mr. Malfoy raised his hand.

"This is not meant to be an insult, Borgin. Instead, I wish to be courteous to Mr. Potter for agreeing to meet with me. In fact, I invite him to dine with my family."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Cautioning a glance to Draco, he saw the boy nodding vigorously, his eyes wide and pleading. Harry bit back a laugh.

"I'd be happy to accept, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you."

Mr. Malfoy nodded, turning to the fireplace to grab a bag of some kind of powder. "I assume you have never traveled by Floo, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head. Draco had mentioned Flooing in one of his letters, but he had never explained how it worked.

"Simply grab a handful of powder, Mr. Potter, drop it into the grate, and say the words, 'Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.' Our Manor's wards will bid you enter. Please floo first, Mr. Potter; I would like to be able to help if something goes amiss."

"Alright," Harry said, stepping up eagerly. New magic was always fun for him.

Mr. Malfoy held the bag of powder out to him as he checked his pocket watch once more. Dropping the powder into the grate, the orange flames became a deep green.

"Step inside," Mr. Malfoy urged. "And repeat after me: Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire."

"Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire," Harry said dutifully. Suddenly, his body lurched and his sight blurred. Harry shut his eyes, trying to block out the dizzying feeling that crept into his bones. Before long, his feet found something solid to stand on.

Stepping out of the fireplace, Harry looked around the room he was standing in. It was ridiculously pretty, Harry decided. A large painting of a beautiful landscape was hung behind a large, ornate table that dominated the room. Looking behind him, the beautiful fireplace was decorated by a large, marble mantle. Harry was distracted from his inspection when Draco stepped out of the fireplace.

"Welcome to our home, Harry," Draco said with a grin, sweeping his arms out in a large gesture.

"Thanks, Draco. I would return the favor, but I doubt you would like to visit my place of residence."

Draco scoffed, "You will not be there long if I have anything to say about it."

Harry felt his heart warm at the thought of someone caring like that about him, but he only nodded. That was all he had time for as Mr. Malfoy smoothly removed himself from the fireplace.

A small, elfish creature appeared to take Mr. Malfoy's cloak from him. Mr. Malfoy wordlessly removed it, tossing it towards the elf.

Harry mentally groaned; that was how Draco had given him that note. He had had a house elf do it, another of those topics the two had discussed.

"Now, let us take this gathering into the dining hall; your mother should already be there, Draco," Mr. Malfoy said, turning to lead the two boys.

Harry tried not to appear too awestruck, but it was difficult. The dining hall was shrouded in regal golds and soft browns. A long, shiny brown table sat underneath a beautiful chandelier, made up of what seemed to be hundreds of candles. Harry took a breath to calm himself; Draco certainly was not lying about the Malfoy's wealth.

Sitting near the end of one table was a beautiful woman. She had blond hair in common with the two Malfoy men, but of a darker tone. Her eyes were a pleasant blue as she smiled towards the three.

"My wife and Draco's mother, Mr. Potter," Mr. Malfoy said silkily. "Narcissa Malfoy."

Mrs. Malfoy smiled wider as Harry neared the table.

"Draco has told us a lot about you, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Malfoy said, her voice clear and soft as she spoke.

"Hopefully not everything," Harry responded, placing his hand on the back of a luxurious leather chair. "I would not want to seem too boring."

Mrs. Malfoy laughed softly. "I am sure you are anything but that, Mr. Potter. Would you please sit? Lunch shall be served in a few minutes."

Harry nodded gratefully, looking to Draco for what seat to take. Draco beckoned towards the one directly across from Mrs. Malfoy and right at the end of the table. Harry nodded before taking his seat.

The Malfoys were putting him a bit on edge. They were involved in politics and Harry had no misconceptions of the grilling he was about to endure. With Draco as his friend, though, he hoped to answer well.

Draco took the seat next to Harry as Mr. Malfoy sat at the head of the table. Another elf popped into existence to take Mr. Malfoy's cane. Once the elf had popped away, Mr. Malfoy turned his eyes back to Harry.

"Welcome to our home, Mr. Potter. I hope you find it to your tastes."

Harry laughed internally at that. Yes, Malfoy Manor fit his "tastes" just fine.

"Your home is spectacular, from the two rooms I have seen," Harry admitted, making sure to look at both Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. "Of course, I must thank you again for having me here."

"Think nothing of it," Mr. Malfoy announced. "Any friend of Draco's has earned our hospitality."

' _And all that entails_ ,' Harry thought amusedly.

"Draco informed us that you have not been aware of the magical world for long," Mrs. Malfoy intoned, surveying Harry's expression. "How have you been adjusting?"

"Spectacularly," Harry smiled. "Just knowing that there is something more out there, something truly amazing –"

"Ah, that is quite the description," Mr. Malfoy stated, leaning forward in his chair. "'Amazing,' is it?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Don't get me wrong; I knew there was something special about me for a long time. I could do things that the other kids at the orphanage could not dream of doing."

"And what would those things be, Mr. Potter?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, her expression curious.

Harry shrugged. "I could affect objects. The first thing I remember doing was willing a coat to repair itself. I learned to control it over time."

Mr. Malfoy looked impressed while Draco was openly gaping at him.

"You never told me that," Draco accused, sounding slightly upset.

Harry shrugged again. "It's not something I normally tell people. I am a driven person, Draco. I would not be telling you now if I didn't trust you."

"And just what are you driven to accomplish, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Malfoy said, bringing the conversation back his way.

Harry smirked. "To become as great as I know I can be."

Mr. Malfoy nodded his head slowly, "That borders on arrogance, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to why you feel this way."

Harry stayed silent for a moment, contemplating his words. They would not be received well by some people, but considering Draco's opinion on the subject, his words would more likely be agreed upon.

"First," Harry started, breathing in slowly. "Let me establish that I abhor the orphanage and everyone that lives there. I have no friends there. I am too different from them. Over time, I have learned that that difference is not just in personalities, but also in terms of power. I can do things that they cannot; they are nothing compared to me."

Mr. Malfoy's eyes widened a fraction, but he did not seem displeased.

"Go on, Mr. Potter," Mr. Malfoy urged.

Harry did.

"When Professor McGonagall came to tell me about magic, I was not…surprised. I knew there was something in me that set me apart, something beyond my enjoyment of reading and dislike of most people. And then the Professor informed me of my place in the Wizarding World, of the Dark Lord -"

Draco had warned Harry not to say Voldemort's name, especially around his parents. He could understand that. Their family had been so affected by Voldemort's reign.

"Let's talk about him, then," said Mr. Malfoy, a curious gleam in his eyes, "Draco has of course informed you of the Dark Lord's effect on our family. His effect on your life, however, has been much more severe. How do you feel about him?"

"At first, I wanted revenge," Harry admitted. "That man ruined my chance at having parents. I tried to blame the orphanage on him as well, but I've reconsidered that. Frankly, with my fame, I would bet that most families would have taken me in if they had the chance. That means someone consciously decided that I should be in an orphanage."

Harry sighed. He'd get that person for sticking him there as well.

"But as for the Dark Lord," Harry continued. "He has a lot to answer for, as far as I'm concerned. Unfortunately, he's not here for me to question."

Mr. Malfoy smiled. "It seems to me, Mr. Potter, from admittedly only a few minutes of conversation, that your opinion of muggles and the Dark Lord's opinion of muggles are shockingly similar."

Harry started at that. "How do you know that?"

"I had planned on joining the Dark Lord willingly," Mr. Malfoy said, sending a jolt down Harry's spine. "His plans and ideals largely coincided with mine. His view on muggles was refreshing, as was his stance on blood purity. The Dark Lord wanted to change the Wizarding World for the better."

Harry shut his jaw quickly. "And just what were those views?" Harry asked.

"The Dark Lord was quite the politician. He gained followers amongst purebloods by agreeing that blood mattered to a certain extent. Purebloods have amassed a wealth of knowledge and power that other wizards would like to ignore. It is much like your opinion regarding muggles; we purebloods hold something _more_ in us that gives us this power. The Dark Lord understood that."

Harry nodded. That made sense to him. The pureblood families worked together; that was nothing to penalize them for.

"He felt muggles were a threat due to their sheer numbers. However, he felt much like you do; that overall, muggles possessed no great talents, that they pale in comparison to Wizardkind."

Harry felt himself nodding along again. "All of this is reasonable – in fact, I would go so far as to say that this is correct. Who would deny these things?"

"Ah," Mr. Malfoy started, a wry smile forming on his lips. "Muggleborns dislike the truth. They want to feel important – and they can be, if they accept Wizarding culture. However, they take their preconceived muggle notions into this world and pollute it."

Silence stretched between them. Harry glanced at Mrs. Malfoy. She was looking at him expectantly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Draco was pleading Harry to agree with his eyes.

Looking back at Mr. Malfoy, the man seemed perfectly composed. In fact, he looked pleasantly surprised at how the conversation had turned out.

"I can see how this would be the case," Harry murmured, suddenly distracted by the food that had appeared on the large plate in front of him. "But I…wish to make this observation for myself. You, however, seem to speak very highly of a man who enslaved you. Why is that?"

Mr. Malfoy sipped at his goblet before answering, "I do not appreciate the way the Dark Lord manipulated me, but I approached of my own free will. I still agree with the beliefs the Dark Lord held, but not with the way he approached change. I fear that our topic of conversation is far too engaged for polite dining, however. Might I ask how your planning for Hogwarts has been going?"

After taking a bite of chicken – delicious, by the way - Harry recounted his readings to the Malfoys. Harry received yet another warning about the Potions professor, agitating him slightly. ' _I can handle a damn teacher,_ ' Harry thought with exasperation.

Draco piped up in a big way. Apparently, this type of conversation was what he lived for. Mrs. Malfoy too. Between Draco and his mother, Harry felt he was up to date on everything related to Hogwarts. The pair discussed fashion trends with Harry as Mr. Malfoy ate in silence. Harry was not one for fashion, but since he had no clue how fashion worked with robes, he decided to listen.

"What I do not understand is how witches and wizards cope with how restricting robes seem to be," Harry argued. "How do you run in them?"

"It is not proper for decent witches and wizards to partake in such hooliganism," Draco said stiffly, as if rehearsed. Across the table, Mrs. Malfoy nodded.

"Sometimes such a thing is necessary," Harry shot back. This time, Mr. Malfoy was the one nodding.

"I generally have my robes with a cut in the back, Mr. Potter," He said. "I find that that alone helps greatly."

Harry nodded his thanks before asking a question about conjuring, thinking back to his meeting with Professor McGonagall. In the end, Harry had seven book recommendations on the subject, including one that Draco had a house elf retrieve.

"One thing that seems woefully missing from our curriculum is offensive magic," Harry stated. That grabbed the attention of all three Malfoys.

"They generally teach more offensive magic later on, Mr. Potter," Mr. Malfoy responded. "Though if you'd like, I can recommend a few books for you."

Harry shook his head.

"I would like that, but even then it would be things like disarming opponents and disorienting them, right?"

Mr. Malfoy made no response, so Harry continued. "Sometimes that is not enough. Sometimes the only way to stop someone is to physically…restrain them."

Mr. Malfoy steepled his fingers, a shrewd look in his eye. "Have you heard of Dark Magic, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "How can you have a Dark Lord if you do not have Dark Magic?" He joked.

Mr. Malfoy laughed softly. "How, indeed? Dark Magic seems to be what you are describing. It is magic of a more powerful nature, magic that used both offensively and defensively."

"What makes something considered Dark Magic?"

Mr. Malfoy smirked. "If the Ministry cannot regulate it, it is Dark."

"That's ridiculous," Harry said incredulously. "How can they manage magic so carelessly?"

"It has taken a long time, to be certain," Mr. Malfoy responded. "I will admit this to you; I practice some magic that would be considered Dark by Ministry standards, but I am not hurting anyone. I am simply using everything at my disposal, am I not?"

Harry nodded vigorously. He was getting quite a course in magical philosophy today, it seemed.

"I will not discount anything that can help me realize my potential," Harry said bluntly. "Nor will I let it control me as Professor McGonagall claimed."

Mr. Malfoy nodded approvingly before a smile overtook his lips.

"So you see Dark Magic as a tool, not evil in itself?"

"Yes," Harry said, wondering where this was going.

"If that is the case," Mr. Malfoy drawled predatorily. "And you agree on the previously discussed views on blood and muggles, then why hate the Dark Lord? Are there any remaining qualms you have with the man?"

Harry paused. Honestly, he did not really want to think about it. "But he's gone, right?"

Mr. Malfoy just smiled.

Lunch ended pleasantly enough. The four discussed several other polite topics during that time before Draco showed Harry around the Manor. It truly was beautiful, he decided. The white peacocks on the lush lawn were a bit much, but Harry could appreciate the show of wealth. Why else would you buy bloody peacocks?

Draco talked of his friends as he showed Harry around. Most were purebloods that he knew from parties. In fact, they had all undergone some rudimentary education together. The conversation turned again when Draco showed Harry his room.

The room was brilliant. Harry had to admit he was jealous, though not out loud. Draco had a bloody sitting area in his room. The wall was lined with shelves filled with books and a small pen that enclosed a miniature, moving dragon. And the bed…oh it looked lovely.

Draco showed Harry his broom and described how flying worked. Harry was enraptured. To fly through the air with reckless abandon was a dream he had harbored for years.

"I can show you how to fly, if you wish," Draco stated mildly, as if he could not see Harry's eagerness.

"Please do, Draco," Harry replied. Before Draco could do so, however, Mr. Malfoy entered the room, holding several books under one arm.

"Mr. Potter, I have several books to aid you in your studies," he said, laying the books out onto Draco's luxurious bed. "Some of these are on the art of dueling, containing the offensive spells that you were looking for."

Mr. Malfoy paused, picking up two books near the end.

"These are on Dark Magic," He said softly. "If you are truly interested in the subject, these books will act as a beginner's guide. Please contact me if you have any questions at all; this is not a subject to delve into without help."

Harry nodded, truly grateful for Mr. Malfoy's help.

"I also feel that it would be prudent to bestow you with this."

Mr. Malfoy reached into his pocket to remove what looked like a small box. Running the tip of his wand over the object, it expanded quickly.

Harry bit back a gasp. It was a trunk! He had never had enough possessions to ever need something like it, but with his new school supplies, he was having trouble keeping them out of sight.

"Thank you," Harry breathed. "Truly, I do not know how I can repay you."

Mr. Malfoy laid a hand on his shoulder. "Think nothing of it. I need to take you back to your…home."

Here, the man sneered, as if such a place did not earn the title. Harry agreed wholeheartedly.

With a wistful look around the room and a reluctant sigh, Harry finally nodded. He had been in the Manor for nearly five hours. He could not trust being away from his possessions for too long, anyway. The damn brats at the orphanage would mess with them if they got the chance.

"As for your housing situation," Mr. Malfoy continued. "That was partly why I wanted to meet with you. After our pleasant conversations, I can confidently state that our home is always open to you. If I can, I will make such a situation permanent."

Harry beamed, looking to Draco to see a matching smile of his own. That would be…amazing.

Harry laughed, collecting the books and re-shrunken trunk into his arms, "And I would thank you every day for such a situation. Bye, Draco. Thank you so much for inviting me."

Draco got up to shake Harry's hand. "Anytime, Harry. You had better continuing to write, though."

"Without a doubt," Harry replied.

The goodbyes were brief but warm between him and Mrs. Malfoy. Harry shook Draco's hand once again – Draco seemed to enjoy that, for some reason – before Mr. Malfoy introduced him to a new way of travel – apparition.

"Christ," Harry gasped. His bloody ears had popped!

"It gets better, if it makes you feel better," Mr. Malfoy said, removing his hand from Harry's shoulder. The man surveyed the orphanage with a sneer in place. "This place is revolting. You deserve much better."

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. He didn't _like_ being here. "The kids know not to mess with me. I made that clear a long time ago."

Mr. Malfoy laughed softly, patting Harry on the shoulder, "Very good, Mr. Potter; show the muggles their place."

"Under me," Harry supplied. "By the way – call me Harry."

"I suppose I can offer you the same courtesy, Harry," Lucius said with a smirk. He reached out his right hand.

"Until next time."

Harry grinned.

"Hopefully soon. Thanks again, Lucius."

"Of course."

* * *

Lucius returned to the Manor moments later, deciding to make sure Harry made it back inside the orphanage. Draco was waiting for him, clearly expectant.

"Well?" Draco asked.

Lucius did not respond at first, instead walking up and placing his hands on Draco's shoulders.

"I am so very proud of you, my son," Lucius said, looking into Draco's eyes as his son beamed from the praise. "Keep Harry near you at Hogwarts and help him however you can. He will need it. His fame will not go away, especially with his aspirations."

Draco nodded determinedly. "Can we convert him to our side?"

"Draco," Lucius playfully scolded. "You heard the boy's answers; he is already on our side."


	6. I'm on a Train!

Harry closed the lid of his new trunk gently. Today was the last day he would be in the orphanage for an entire year. Harry had woken even earlier than normal from sheer the excitement of it. Well, that and the ability to practice magic; magic was pretty exciting as well.

Harry turned around at the knock on his door. The other boys were somewhere else in the orphanage and up until this point, Harry had been enjoying his morning.

"All set, then?" Ms. Reed asked sullenly, folding her arms across her torso.

Harry nodded, returning his attention to his trunk. Frankly, he did this only so he would not have to look at her.

"Where is it you need to go again, boy?"

"King's Cross station," Harry murmured, reaching for his pillow to retrieve a book.

"And where is this school of yours?"

Harry turned around to the aging woman to shrug. It was not any of her business.

The woman scoffed at him. "You had better learn some words, boy. You'll need them for whatever school would have you."

Harry shook his head, sneering before checking for any items he missed in packing. She was not worth more than a few words anyway.

"Here's some bus fare. You'd best be off, then."

Ms. Reed placed some notes onto his dresser before leaving the room.

Harry resisted the urge to hit something. He really hated that woman. She did not care about any of the children. Harry felt the same, but only because he had actually _tried_ at one point to be friendly. This woman, however, was mean only because she could not be bothered to be nice.

Of course, the children were not any better. Harry smiled as he thought back to the Malfoy's offer. Their home was always open to him and they were searching for a way to gain custody of him. Harry caressed the spine of the book he was holding, one of the books Lucius had provided him.

Harry had browsed the expositions of each of the books the night he had returned from Malfoy Manor. From there, he decided to read _Magic and its Effects on the Body_ first. Harry was almost finished reading the book and it was fascinating.

According to the book, most spells cast at the body were meant to either harm, heal, or alter. These spells differentiated in their wand movements and incantations. The wand movements were based on runic designs of original magical civilizations. Modern incantations were in a hybrid form of Latin for universal use.

Harry understood the real difference, however; it was the same one that he had discovered five years ago. Intent. The book had even stated so. Wand movements mimicking runes depicted a physical representation of intention. Words gave a verbal assurance of intention. A witch or wizard's thoughts gave a mental connection of their intention.

The book, at the part Harry was currently scouring, gave examples of wand movements and the runes they expressed. Spells rarely used the same movements, though they were similar at times.

' _I'm going to have to thank the Malfoys again for this,_ ' Harry sighed.

Draco had written to him the morning before, expressing his own eager excitement for school to start. He also gave Harry the time when the Malfoys would arrive. Beyond that, the boy had rattled on in an un-Dracolike way about classes, the sorting, and his and Harry's spot at Hogwarts.

His friend wanted to be important. Harry found himself wanting that too. Draco was absolutely assured that both he and Harry would find themselves in Slytherin. Harry found that funny, but was open-minded. He wanted to go where he would not only fit, but excel.

Harry set the book reverently inside his trunk before shutting the lid once more, securing the latch this time. It was 8 o'clock and time to leave. Snatching the notes off the dresser and throwing on his hooded jacket, Harry descended the stairs and left through the front door.

At the street, Harry set down his trunk to look back at the orphanage. He had suffered so much here, learning to hate at a level most people could not even imagine. Harry was aware of this and it scared him at times. He did not want to lose himself to hate – that was how the Ms. Reeds of the world, as worthless as she was, were.

' _I won't have to see this place for an entire year. And hopefully I will never have to see it again,'_ Harry sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. _'If I ever come back, I may just kill everyone here.'_

He picked up his trunk once more, smiling slightly at the feel of rich leather against his fingertips.

' _Draco, you'd better come through for me, mate.'_

* * *

King's Cross was loud and busy, even at 9 in the morning. Harry's train was not scheduled to leave until 11, but honestly Harry just wanted to get away from the orphanage. Most people were pushing trolleys around but Harry simply carried his trunk by its handle. It was lighter than is should be, leaving Harry to guess that there was more magic on the trunk besides the expanded interior.

The barrier to Platform 9 ¾ was easy to spot based on Professor McGonagall's instructions. Going through was even easier, though it provided Harry with one of the biggest thrills of his life.

The steaming engine in front of him was a gleaming scarlet. Gold letters spelled out "Hogwarts Express" along the side of the engine. Harry smiled; to date, this was his third time in the wizarding world and it was as special as when he had first learned about magic. Speaking of magic, he had a book to finish…

A book that would have to wait, it seemed.

"Excuse me," Harry heard from above him. "But you're Harry Potter, right?"

Harry looked up. He had gotten through a couple of pages and already someone was interrupting him? In front of him was a reedy looking teenager with brown hair and glasses.

"Yeah, that's me," Harry affirmed, carefully closing his book. "What can I do for you?"

"Will you sign this?" The boy stuffed a quill and piece of parchment in front of Harry's nose. Harry quirked an eyebrow but silently signed the parchment, holding it out to the boy when he was done.

The boy snatched it away with a quick thanks before running down the station, shouting, "Oi! Williams! I told you it was him! Harry Potter gave me his autograph!"

' _Oh shit_ ,' Harry thought, ducking his head as stares suddenly were focused on him. ' _That damn kid is going to get it_.'

In a matter of moments, a crowd surrounded his bench. _'I guess I'm not going to finish this book any time soon_ ,' Harry thought with a sigh, plastering a false smile on his face.

A cry of "Hey, Harry!" broke through the crowd. Harry looked to his right to see Cedric Diggory running over to greet him.

"I've gotta go, guys. I'm sorry," Harry said, ignoring the protesting cries around him. For the last half hour, he had dutifully answered questions, signed autographs, and patted little brats on the head just for show. After that, he could not give a damn about the rest of them.

Picking up his trunk and book, Harry broke through the crowd to greet a beaming Cedric.

"Cedric! What's new, mate?" Harry asked.

"Not much," Cedric said, peeking over Harry's head at the dispersing crowd. "How long have you been here?"

Harry shrugged, looking at the large clock near him.

"It's been about an hour," Harry said. "I was too excited to sit around waiting. However, I didn't realize people would swarm me just for going to bloody school."

Cedric nodded, laughing. "And you got stuck playing Boy-Who-Lived, huh?"

"Boy-Who-Lived?" Harry asked, revolted. "Please tell me that I'm not actually called that."

"I could say that, but I'd be lying," Cedric chuckled. "But you played nice with the crowd, right?"

"Of course," Harry laughed. "What else would I do?"

Cedric shrugged, looking back over his shoulder. "I was saying goodbye to my parents but I saw that you needed some help. Would you like to meet them?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "I'm guessing that's them over there?"

Harry spotted a couple behind Cedric standing a ways away on the platform looking back at them.

"Yep," replied Cedric. "C'mon, my dad works at the Ministry. My mum stays at home, so she might be a bit tearful."

"Fun," Harry murmured as the pair approached the couple. Cedric's father had a ruddy face and brown hair falling to his shoulders and a scrubby beard to match. Mrs. Diggory was tall and handsome; Cedric seemed to get most of his looks from her, from the wavy brown hair to the grey eyes.

"Ced, who's your friend?" Mr. Diggory asked.

"This is Harry, dad. Erm –"

"Harry Potter," Harry finished for Cedric, privately touched that Cedric was trying to prevent even more gawking.

"Bless my soul," Mr. Diggory breathed with wide eyes as his wife grabbed his arm. "Amos Diggory, Mr. Potter. This is my wife, Ashley."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, grimacing slightly after yet another handshake.

"So you've met my boy Cedric, huh?" Amos said gruffly. "Not a better kid at Hogwarts, I'd wager."

"Dad, c'mon," Cedric muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

"Nonsense, Ced. It's obvious to anyone that you are the cream of the crop. No need to be modest when you can back it up."

"Yeah, but dad," Cedric argued. "It was just one year."

"One year of all O's and earning the starting seeker spot on your House team," Amos announced proudly, patting Cedric on the back. "You'd do well to follow my boy's footsteps, Mr. Potter; not a brighter kid you'll find."

"I'm sure," Harry said amusedly, enjoying Cedric's embarrassment.

"Now sweetie, you have everything you'll need, right?" Mrs. Diggory asked.

"Yes, Mum," Cedric said with a sigh, quirking a smile in Harry's direction. "Perhaps this wasn't the best idea."

Harry snickered in response.

"Ah – there you are, Harry."

Harry turned at that voice, one he knew well. Behind him, the Malfoys approached, Lucius majestically leading the way with his cane.

"Hey, Harry," Draco smiled. Draco was pushing a trolley with a richly crafted black trunk attached. On top of it sat two cages: one containing Draco's eagle owl, the other housing a white owl.

"Hello Mr. Malfoy," Harry said to the tall man before him.

Lucius reached out to tap Harry on the shoulder with his cane. "I recall saying that you may make use my first name, Harry."

"Of course, Lucius," Harry smiled. "How have you all been?"

"Marvelously," Mrs. Malfoy said pleasantly. "Amos, Ashley: lovely seeing you two again."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Mr. Diggory greeted cautiously.

"And this is your son, I presume?" Lucius asked silkily, his gaze locking on Cedric.

"Cedric, sir. Pleased to meet you," Cedric said, raising his hand in a wave.

"Indeed," Lucius replied, his upper lip curling slightly at the corner as he focused on the boy. After a moment, Lucius refocused on Harry.

"Harry – Narcissa and I have gotten Draco a going away gift; we felt that you deserved one as well."

"Oh no, sir; you didn't have to do – "

"But I did anyway," Lucius interrupted, bringing his arm up to gesture lazily at the trolley. "The snowy owl is yours."

Harry would have protested, but he was speechless. They had gotten him a pet? How _cool_ was that?

"Oh wow…thanks," Harry breathed, approaching the trolley to see his new pet. "What's its name?"

"She has not been named yet," Lucius drawled. "We decided that that honor should fall to you."

Harry offered his hand to the owl who eyed him neutrally. After scratching the back of its neck, however, the owl hooted softly.

"Anyway," Cedric said, breaking the silence. "I need to get on the train. Mum, Dad, I'll write to you tomorrow."

"Bye, sweetie," Mrs. Diggory said tearfully. "You study hard, ok?"

"Of course," Cedric smiled. "You coming, Harry?"

"In a minute, Cedric," said Harry, still stroking his new pet. "I need to talk to the Malfoys. I'll catch up to you later."

"Alright. I'll talk to you later, then." With a cheery wave, Cedric took his things to the train, his parents in tow.

"I'll work on getting you a name soon, alright?" The owl hooted back in reply. Satisfied, Harry turned around to face the Malfoys.

"The books are brilliant," Harry admitted, holding up the book in his hand. "I've been reading one of the ones on theory to start just because, well, that seemed the place to start."

"I am pleased they are of aid to you, Harry," Lucius said, inspecting the head of his cane. "Do you have any questions regarding what you've read?"

"Not really – at least not yet," Harry replied. "A lot of the things in the book I've been reading I had already assumed."

"Really, now?" Lucius drawled, his eyes moving from his wife and son to Harry swiftly. "And just what have you…assumed?"

"That magic is really based on two things," Harry said, ticking them off on his fingers. "Intention and how much magic you have to use. There's got to be more to it, but that's what seems to matter most – at least to me."

"Not bad at all," Lucius praised softly. "However, you will find that channeling that intention is a challenge."

"We need to get going, Harry," Draco interrupted. "The train is leaving in five minutes. I've had some friends reserve a compartment for us."

"Okay. I guess we'd better go," Harry said, trying to mask his excitement.

"One more thing, Harry," Lucius drawled, a smile working its way onto his face. "I am still working on a solution for your…poor housing arrangements. I should have the situation corrected soon."

Harry grinned in return. "Good. Though honestly, I'm not going back there no matter what. I don't think I'd be able to stand it."

"Let's go, Harry," Draco urged, pulling at the other boy's sleeve.

"Alright," Harry said, picking up his trunk again. "I guess I'll talk to you later."

Lucius nodded in Harry's direction. "Until then, Harry. Draco, you know what I expect from you."

Draco shook his head. "Of course, father. Mother, I will write soon."

"I know you will, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy said fondly. "Goodbye, Harry. We hope to see you over the winter break."

Harry smiled. "I'd like that. C'mon, Draco; let' go."

The two young wizards carried their things nearer to the train, its smoke drifting over the heads of those chatting on the platform. Draco led the way to a compartment near the front of the train and Harry followed, sidestepping a particularly moody cat.

"Right here, Harry," Draco called over his shoulder, stepping up onto the train. Harry hefted his trunk onto his shoulder and made his way up the set of stairs.

"Where are we going to put these?" Harry asked, setting his trunk down with a dull thud and panting from the effort.

Draco walked down the narrow hallway a couple of feet before motioning with his head. Harry allowed himself a small sigh before picking his trunk up again.

"There you are, Draco," a feminine voice sniffed as Harry entered the compartment. "I was worried you would not make it in time."

"I'm always on time," Draco said superiorly. "Harry, make yourself at home."

Harry nodded from the doorway, setting his trunk on the rack above an empty seat. Once he settled into his seat, Harry noticed the stares.

' _Ah, here we go again_ ," Harry thought sardonically. "Hi, I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you all."

"Potter?" The pug-faced girl at the end of his bench echoed. The turned quickly to Draco sitting beside her. "Draco, what is _Potter_ doing here of all people?"

"Like I said," Harry muttered. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm not talking to you, half-blood," the girl sneered, amusing Harry.

"He's here because I said so," Draco said smugly. "Harry, this is Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini."

Harry nodded to each in turn with the exception of the girl, Pansy. Crabbe was burly and dim-looking – so was Goyle, to be honest, if a little taller – and Zabini, the dark skinned boy, reached out to shake his hand, which Harry gladly returned.

"I believe Pansy and I have met," Harry smirked. "But like I said, it is nice to meet you all."

Zabini smiled thinly. "Although Parkinson expressed it poorly, she did have a good question; what _are_ you doing here, Potter?"

"Oh, just going to school," Harry grinned. "I met Draco a while back and we've been writing since. I presume that's what you mean, right?"

Zabini nodded. "And you feel…comfortable here?"

Harry shrugged. "Why shouldn't I?"

That seemed to be enough for Blaise Zabini as the boy turned back to the book in his lap. Pansy, however, was not finished.

"Where have you been, Potter?" She sneered. "Too good to go out in public?"

Harry stared at the girl. She was moody and clinging to Draco's arm like he was a buoy. "I've been places, Parkinson. Places that aren't any of your business."

"Make him leave, Draco!" Parkinson cried, a pleading note to her voice that was music to Harry's ears.

"Aww," Harry mocked her. "Sick of me already?"

She snarled in return, scrunching up her already scrunched face. "Shut it, Potter! You do not belong here!"

"And why should I care what you say?" Harry smirked.

"Enough, Pansy," Draco said. "Harry is not going anywhere."

Harry grinned. "Thanks for your _permission_ , Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes in return.

The train finally left the station, allowing Draco and Harry to let their owls fly to Hogwarts. Really, a train was not a place to keep an owl. Parkinson had sulked in her seat so far, giving Harry a smug sense of satisfaction. The girl was bloody annoying, in Harry's opinion. She kept trying to distract Draco with pouty looks and impatient sighs.

Crabbe and Goyle, it seemed, rarely talked. So far, they had only grunted or nodded. Draco had whispered to him early on that neither boy was that bright; in fact, they had started hanging around him because he was always at parties. Harry found himself simply ignoring their existence.

Zabini was fairly sharp, if a bit arrogant. However, he could not completely disagree with a kid who read as a hobby.

"Say, Draco," Harry said, breaking the silence of the compartment. "Are we allowed to do magic on the train?"

Draco shrugged. "I would assume so. Why shouldn't we?"

"Oh please," Parkinson scoffed. "As if that half-blood could do anything."

Harry felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. The girl was going to make him angry if she was not careful.

"Don't underestimate him, Pansy," Draco grinned.

"I'm used to it," Harry murmured, fishing his Charms book and an old shoe out of his trunk. "Let her think what she wants. I'll prove her wrong like always."

Parkinson sneered, crossing her arms across her chest. "Let's see some magic then, Potter. Go on, magic must be a breeze for the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry was about to retort before the compartment door slid open. A stout boy stood in the doorway with a girl by his side. The boy was sniffling at the floor and the bushy-haired witch stood with her hands on her hips. She was already wearing her Hogwarts robes.

"Have any of you seen a toad?" The witch said, the bossy tone of her voice making Harry grimace. "Neville here has lost one."

The girl spotted Harry holding his wand. "Oh, you're doing magic, then? Let's see. I've tried a few spells on my own for practice but I have not seen another wizard casting."

The witch squeezed herself into the seat opposite him, staring at him expectantly. Zabini, a victim of the girl's actions, stared at her incredulously.

Harry nodded back at the girl. "I just got the book out to try some things. I did not really have anything in mind yet."

Harry flipped to the opening chapter. The Levitation Charm seemed easy enough. The book described a swishing motion followed by a flick at the target item.

Harry tossed the shoe onto the floor, taking a deep breath.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_."

Harry hid a grin. He could feel the magic working, travelling down his arm and leaving through his wand. It was so much more powerful than how he normally did magic. The shoe immediately rose off the floor.

"Nice one, Harry," Draco smiled. Harry nodded back, grinning more at Parkinson's shocked expression than Draco's praise.

"Well done," the bushy-haired girl said. "Of course, I've tried several more that have worked for me. No one else in my family has magic so it was such a surprise when I got my letter. I've learned all my books by heart, of course; I just hope that it is enough – I am Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She spoke faster than Harry could process which was quite a feat.

"Er – I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" The girl – Hermione – said skeptically. "Well, I've read all about you, of course. You are in several books, if you were not aware."

"I wasn't, but that figures," Harry said sardonically.

"So you're a muggleborn?" Parkinson sneered. "We don't want your kind here. Get out. And take Potter with you while you're at it."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose while Hermione looked insulted.

"We are here to find Neville's toad – "

"Yes and it's not here," Draco said with exasperation. "So if you'd please leave."

Hermione swiveled on Draco. "You could be more helpful than that and help us look. I cannot believe how unreasonable you all are being."

"We could, but we aren't," Harry said. Hermione turned angry eyes onto him. "It isn't my problem. I've cooperated, but I'm not changing my plans to practice just because some sniveling kid lost his toad."

Harry turned to the boy – Neville – in the doorway. "You need to grow up and fast," Harry said. "It is just a damn toad. That is nothing to cry about. They'll eat you alive at this school if you don't get it together."

"Yeah, you blood traitor, get out of here," Parkinson chimed in, laughing mockingly.

"I'm not insulting you like she is so make sure you understand," Harry said, sending a glare down to the girl at the end of the bench. "I'm just telling you like it is; either grow up and be somebody or cower like a little kid. The choice should be obvious. Now, please leave. I have some studying to do."

Neville looked at him tearfully before shaking his head and leaving the compartment. Hermione glared at him before leaving the compartment in a huff.

Harry shrugged, not perturbed at all. He spoke the truth. He was not trying to insult the kid, but seriously, grow up. What kind of pet was a toad, anyway?

Draco seemed to approve of what he did, as well as Zabini. In truth, he was not cut out for lying just to save someone's feelings. At least he was not part of the problem. With that, Harry went back to his Charms textbook.

The charms in the book, it seemed, Harry could already do. The inhabitants of the compartment were watching Harry in a stunned silence. Finally, as was usually the case, Draco broke the silence.

"How are you doing this, Harry? I know that you've never tried any of this before."

Harry grinned at his stupefied friend. "It's like I told your father. You've got to mean what you're casting. I read all the wand movements and stuff and I'm doing them, but I'm focusing more on making it work, y'know?"

"No, I don't," Draco incredulously replied as Harry made his ragged shoe change colors. Harry shook his head amusedly but continued on to the next charm.

The trolley lady provided the next interruption. Draco paid for several sweets, tossing a few Harry's way. The most entertaining, however, were definitely the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You never know what flavor you'll get," Draco informed him. "And by every flavor, they mean it. Not quite a treat that can be considered a favorite, but it is certainly good for a laugh."

And the compartment had laughed when Goyle ate a fingernail-flavored bean. The worst Harry had gotten was broccoli. That was, until, an all-white bean was tossed into his hand.

"Eat that one," Draco urged. "If Crabbe won't eat it, I doubt anyone but you would either."

Harry rolled his eyes but popped the bean into his mouth. The taste was bitter and a bit salty, nothing he had ever tasted before. He shrugged in reply and turned his attention to Zabini who was holding a brown and yellow striped bean.

Before long, Parkinson went over to the compartment across the hall so they could all change into their school robes. The sky darkened and the conductor announced that the train was five minutes away from Hogwarts. All in all, Harry was ready to see the school; it would be his home for the next year or so, after all. Draco had mentioned earlier that Hogwarts was on par with his Manor. If that was true, the school would suit him just fine.

The students were instructed to leave their luggage on board. Harry and Draco hopped down off the train onto the platform. The rest of the students were in chaos; they were shoving through the crowd on the tiny platform to get wherever they wanted to go. A large lantern held by an even larger man drew Harry's attention.

"Firs' years! Firs' years, this way!"

Harry turned to see if Draco was staring at the man as well. He was, which made Harry feel a bit better. The man holding the lantern had to be ten feet tall and as large around as three normal-sized men. Curly masses of black hair guarded the man's face, leaving only two, large, beetle-black eyes staring out at the crowd.

"Any more firs' years? C'mon now, follow me – watch yer step there."

Harry let himself be led down a steep path. No one seemed to want to talk much. Harry smirked at Draco as the blond stumbled over a rock. Draco glared back at him but said nothing. A sniffle or two could be heard behind them – that Neville boy, no doubt.

"Hogwarts is jus' round the corner, here," the large man boomed from up front. Ooh's and Ahh's sounded from the group around him. The path had led to the edge of a lake littered with small boats. The thing grabbing Harry's attention, however, was the large castle resting on an even larger hill on the other side of the lake.

 _'Not bad at all_ ,' Harry thought, a grin forming on his face.

The castle was brilliant. It was large with many towers that were all lit up, giving it a cozy appearance.

"Four to a boat," The man with the lantern said. "No more'n that, please."

Harry scrambled into a boat with Draco. Zabini joined them as well as a reedy looking boy with sandy hair.

"Off we go, then!"

The boats began to magically glide across the lake, making Harry smile once more. Everyone was silent, taking in everything around them. Harry was brimming with excitement. The lake was peaceful, stars shone brightly overhead, and the castle that would be his home was brilliant. Draco must have caught his goofy smile because the other boy started to snicker.

"Hey, let me enjoy this; make fun of me later," Harry said amusedly. Draco nodded, still stifling his laughter.

The boats finally reached a small harbor after gliding through an ivy-covered tunnel. The first years were led up a cobblestone path up to the front doors of the school

"Everyone here, then?" The large man asked. Harry looked around, briefly imagining a kid stuck out in the middle of the lake. The man knocked loudly on the door three times.

It swung open as soon as the third knock had landed. Standing there was Professor McGonagall. Harry grinned widely at her. The corner of her lips twitched, but she did not look directly at him.

"The firs' years for yeh, Professor McGonagall," The large man said.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Professor McGonagall replied, flicking her wand to open the doors wide. The entrance hall was ridiculously large. Torches lined the walls and the ceiling was too high to even see clearly. A white marble staircase stood opposite them, leading to higher floors.

Professor McGonagall ushered in the students, leading them to an empty chamber off the hall. Another pair of high double doors sat in front of them. Professor McGonagall turned, motioning for silence even though no one was making a sound.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses."

"Slytherin," Draco interjected from Harry's right, causing him to shake his head amusedly.

"The Sorting is a very important ceremony," continued Professor McGonagall. "Because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath. She had spoken as if from a textbook.

"The Sorting ceremony will take place in front of the entire school so I would recommend smartening yourselves in the meantime. I will be back when we are ready for you. In the meantime, please wait quietly."

As soon as she shut the doors to the Main Hall behind her, the small crowd broke out into frantic whispers. Harry looked around, at peace with the situation.

"You don't plan on tidying your hair, Harry?" Draco teased. The blond had produced a comb from his pocket. "You've seen one of these before, correct?"

Harry ruffled his hair, messing it up further. "Of course I have. My hair has broken many of those in the past."

That was true; his hair _had_ broken several combs in the past.

"I don't doubt that," Draco winced. "Please fix that a bit before we go in."

Harry grinned and shook his head. "It's no use, Draco. Besides, why are you so concerned about my hair?"

Before the boy could retort, the doors swung open.

"We are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please form two lines, please."

Harry shuffled behind Draco. The reedy-looking boy from the boat ride stood in front of him. Professor McGonagall led them past the double doors and into the chamber.

' _Damn_ ,' Harry thought appreciatively. ' _This place is amazing_.'

The Great Hall was vast with a high sky enchanted to look like a starry night. Four long tables lined the hall, coming to a stop before some steps that lead to a table perpendicular to the rest. It seemed that the teachers sat there. Thousands upon thousands of candles floated in the air above the tables, lighting the hall in a brilliant gold.

The lines came to a stop just before the stairs where a stool sat with a pointed wizard's hat on top. The hat was patched and frayed on one side and seemed to be caked with dirt. Its appearance did not really matter, however, when the thing could bloody _sing_.

" _Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can top them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you,_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave of heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a thinking cap!"_

The entire hall burst into applause. Harry reluctantly applauded as well. The hat was pretty cool but that "there's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see" bit might be a problem. Even more, he'd rather not try on a hat made for a grown man in front of an audience. Besides, that whole "It's Harry Potter!" thing was bound to happen again.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A blond pigtailed girl stumbled up to the hat to try it on. Before long, a cry of "HUFFLEPUFF!" echoed through the hall, followed by polite cheers.

Harry tuned out most of the Sorting in favor of looking around. He saw Cedric waving at him from across the hall. Harry nodded in response before eyeing the teachers. Most were watching the students getting Sorted, but three were looking back at him. The most obvious was Albus Dumbledore. Harry felt a shiver go through him as the man nodded over the rims of his glasses, raising his goblet in a silent toast. This man was the most powerful in all of Britain and he was toasting _him_?

' _Maybe getting private lessons from him won't be that hard_ ,' Harry mused. His eyes sought out the black haired wizard to the left of the Headmaster.

' _That must be Snape_ ,' Harry thought. The man fit Draco's description of "black hair, pale skin and a crooked nose" to a tee.

Beside Snape was a man wearing a turban. The man was holding his goblet shakily, looking at Harry with wide eyes. Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain in his forehead.

Harry hissed, refraining at the last moment from clamping a hand to his head.

"What is it?" Draco whispered. Harry shook his head.

"I'll talk about it later."

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco left the line to get Sorted, leaving Harry to dwell with unstable emotions. How did his scar hurt? The last time that had happened was in Gringotts. Was this man the thief?

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry applauded the boy as Draco walked over to the table near the wall. Really, he should not be left with his thoughts. As much as he wanted to meet the man who stole from Gringotts again, this was not exactly the time he had in mind.

And what was with his scar, anyway? The thing would not heal and was now hurting at random times. Was it getting worse?

"Potter, Harry!"

"Harry Potter?"

"Blimey, Harry Potter's here?"

"I got an autograph from him earlier!"

Harry ducked his head to hide his scowl before walking up to the stool. The buzz that surrounded him silenced as soon as he sat down. The hat was placed on his head, covering his eyes.

' _So, let's have a look, shall we?'_


	7. The Darkness Stirs

Harry had seen several of his classmates flinch as the hat was put upon their head. Now he knew why.

' _Hi, hat_ ,' Harry thought awkwardly. How did one communicate with a bloody talking hat without speaking, anyway?

' _Just as you did_ ,' was the drawling reply from the hat. ' _To the duty at hand, however. An enormous amount of talent you have here – and believe you me, I do not state that as often as I would like. Talent…oh my yes, that will not be a problem_.'

Harry knew he was grinning so he ducked his head.

' _Thanks_ ,' Harry thought.

' _No need to thank me_ ,' the Sorting Hat replied. ' _I am only stating what I see. There is also much more pain in your past than is common for a boy your age. An orphanage…most children I sort from orphanages tend to not be the happiest bunch. Yes, not many pleasant memories here_.'

' _Spot on so far, hat_ ,' Harry mentally grunted. ' _What else_?'

' _Of course, your motivation is…unparalleled. But how should I sort you?_

' _Hufflepuff is out of the question, I think. You are more driven than anyone in that house – you'd scare them, quite frankly_.'

' _Wouldn't want that,_ ' Harry mentally snickered. ' _Though Cedric hasn't been scared of me_.'

' _Only a matter of time_ ,' the Sorting Hat said with amusement. ' _Gryffindor…no. With your past, you are simply incompatible with Gryffindor though you hold many of Godric's favored traits. It's all about the current crowd, you know. And again, I think you'd scare the current Gryffindor's as well._ '

' _I'm a scary guy then_ ,' Harry thought distractedly. ' _Say, isn't this taking a bit long_?'

' _Longest so far today_ ,' the hat affirmed. ' _You're interesting so I'll take my time, thank you_.'

Harry laughed audibly at that, making the first few rows of people start to whisper.

' _Ravenclaw is a possibility_ ,' the hat spoke suddenly. ' _Your intelligence would rival any in the house. My only concern is that Ravenclaw would not provide enough…depth for you_.'

' _What exactly do you mean by d-'_

' _Take my word for it, Harry Potter_.'

' _Alright then_.'

The hat gave a mental snort. ' _Slytherin…another possibility. Salazar would value your bravery and drive to succeed. Slytherin would definitely help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that_.'

' _Sounds like a no-brainer to me, then_ ,' Harry thought.

' _Slytherin's a tough road for any wizard_ ,' the hat admitted. ' _Purebloods are a majority there and they play by their own rules. Can you handle it?_ '

' _Of course_ ,' Harry thought indignantly. ' _I can deal with whatever I need to_.'

' _It sounds then as though you would like to join the Slytherins, Mr. Potter_ ,' the hat said dryly.

' _I want to go where I'll fit best, where I'll learn the most_ ,' Harry thought firmly. ' _If that's Slytherin, then I'll go to Slytherin_.'

' _Expectations for you would have you elsewhere_ ,' the Sorting Hat spoke amusedly. ' _But no matter. I've made my decision; before I announce my verdict, however…welcome both to the Wizarding World and to Hogwarts, Harry Potter. SLYTHERIN will be glad to have you.'_

The Sorting Hat was plucked from his head and Harry blinked at the light. Rising, Harry steered himself to the Slytherin table where Draco was grinning like a buffoon. Harry was only vaguely aware of the applause he was receiving. It was loud, though he could see the disappointed faces. It seemed as if students from every house had wanted him.

"Welcome, Harry," Draco said delightedly, scooting over to preserve Harry a spot next to him.

Harry rolled his eyes at the boy's exuberance, but nodded anyway. "Thanks, Draco."

Harry carefully stepped over the bench to sit down; getting used to robes would be a bit of a challenge. Draco was still beaming at him, causing Harry's lips to quirk. Harry, however, was looking toward the head table. The Sorting Hat had distracted him, but he could not forget the pain he had felt when he looked at the man with the turban. Harry's brow creased; the man in the turban was no longer looking at him.

Professor Snape was though. The potions professor seemed puzzled, but at least he was not openly hostile. Still, the constant attention was unsettling.

"Are you alright, Harry? What was the problem earlier?" Draco muttered softly. At least he had the sense to be quiet about it.

"I'm fine," Harry murmured breaking eye contact with the potions professor. "And now's not the time, okay?"

"So you're Harry Potter, eh?" Harry's eyes fixed on a thin boy from across the table. Harry recalled seeing him on one of the boats earlier. The boy had brown hair reaching down gracefully to his eyebrows and bright blue eyes.

"Theodore Nott," the boy introduced, sticking out his right hand. Harry shook it but said nothing else.

"Ew – Theo, you don't want to touch the halfblood. You might catch something," Parkinson sneered from down the table, her arms crossed. Harry found himself rolling his eyes again as Nott smirked.

"It's not his choice to be a halfblood, is it?" Nott questioned, his eyes shifting to Harry. "If Potter's smart enough to hang around Draco, he's worth something, at least."

"Thanks," Harry said sardonically.

"It doesn't change what he is," Parkinson interjected with a baleful glare at Harry.

"Nor does it change what you are, Pansy," Draco sighed. "Annoying."

"Draco!" Parkinson gasped as Nott snickered.

Harry ignored Parkinson in favor of surveying the table. Crabbe and Goyle were seated down the table next to a burly looking girl scowling at an empty plate. Across from her sat a girl who appeared much more pleasant, speaking softly to one of the older students.

"So how's your father, Theodore?" Draco said wearily, ignoring Parkinson's tantrum.

"As well as I could hope," the boy replied. "Father's been a bit demanding lately but what else is new?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Nott's words but said nothing. He knew nothing about the boy to comment on, anyway.

"My father's fairly old," Theo said, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "And damn strict. Has a certain way he wants everything done - a way that I just have trouble with sometimes."

Harry nodded. He could relate to that, even though he had no parents. The orphanage had rules that made no sense. For that reason, Harry ignored them.

"So how many of the Slytherins do you know, Potter?"

Harry grinned at Nott. At least the boy was nice enough. "I met Draco this past summer. Other than that, I shared a compartment with Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson – "

"Pity," Nott smirked, causing the girl to huff. Harry snickered in return.

"Zabini, Blaise!"

"And him," Harry gestured to the dark skinned boy sitting down on the stool.

Nott nodded as Draco fidgeted to Harry's right.

"Zabini needs to get in Slytherin already; I'm hungry," Draco muttered.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"There you go," Harry said amusedly as he glanced up at the Head Table. The wizard in the turban was clapping shakily for Zabini, but his eyes found Harry's once more. There was no pain this time.

The Headmaster stood to speak as McGonagall removed the stool and Sorting Hat from the hall. Albus Dumbledore was taller than Harry had imagined, and seemed to have a flair for the extravagant. The Headmaster was wearing robes with stars and moons decorating the cloth in a color that was causing Harry's eyes some stress. The wizard was beaming at the students, gesturing out to them with wide arms.

"To our new students, welcome!" He said. "And to the rest, welcome back! There are several start of term items that need to be addressed, but they can all wait; in the meantime, tuck in!"

Harry's eyebrows raised of their own volition as the table filled with food. His meal with the Malfoys had been the best of his life. But even that seemed to pale in comparison to Hogwarts.

He had never seen so many things that he wanted to eat all at one table before. Plates upon plates of food lined the wooden table. The aroma of potatoes and meats filled Harry's senses, drawing a smile from the boy.

"Steak or fish, Draco?" Harry grinned, looking over at the boy. Draco already had a plate full of food and a fork sticking out of his mouth.

Draco paused to swallow before saying simply, "Both."

Harry sighed in contentment as he set down his fork. Treacle tart was a delicacy that he had never had the opportunity to enjoy. That was, until now. The conversation around him was peaceful and the food was spectacular. Harry knew he was grinning like a loon, but there was nothing for it. Nott and Zabini had shaken hands as the food had appeared. It seemed that the two knew each other well. That was fine, in Harry's opinion; the two boys were _fun_. Between them and Draco's company, Harry had thoroughly enjoyed the dinner.

"Excuse me, Potter."

A hand landed gently on Harry's shoulder as he turned around. An older boy was leaning in to talk to him, a shiny badge on his chest.

"Professor Snape would like to have a word with you after the Headmaster's speech. I'll come get you and show you the way to his office once we are dismissed, alright?"

Harry nodded, ignoring Draco's look of puzzlement beside him. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," the boy said. With a final pat on his shoulder, the boy walked off back down the table.

"Huh," Harry said, turning around to look at the other boys. "I wonder what that's about."

"I do not know, Harry, but remember what I told you about my godfather; he can be a bit difficult at times," Draco muttered, a grimace crossing his face.

"Isn't it obvious?" Nott grinned. He rolled his eyes at the three shaking their heads. "Potter, you're a bloody celebrity. The professor is going to have to deal with a lot in return for your Sorting. Just think – he needs your cooperation. You receive fan mail, right?"

Harry shook his head again with wide eyes. God forsake him if he was receiving fan mail.

"Well, he'll need to know things like that," Nott laughed. "Especially in terms of his authority. If you won't follow him, after all, how can he get others to?"

Harry was saved from responding as the Headmaster stood once more.

"Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts! I have just a few items that need addressing…"

Harry split his attention from the Headmaster. Snape was looking at him once again. Harry nodded respectfully at the man. The professor nodded swiftly in return before returning his attention to his drink. Harry scoffed at the warnings about the man; he seemed decent enough. Harry let his eyes drift to Professor McGonagall. She was looking at him as well.

' _Might as well get a reaction out of her_ ,' Harry smirked inwardly. He offered the woman a cheery wave and grin, earning a small shake of her head and pursed lips in return.

" – I would also like to introduce our newest professor, Professor Quirrell. Professor Quirrell will be taking on the task of teaching Defense of the Dark Arts. Good luck, Professor!"

Sparse clapping met the man as he shakily stood and Harry's eyes narrowed. Why had his forehead hurt when the man had looked at him? There was more to Professor Quirrell than being just a quivering, nervous adult, at the very least.

"On a more serious note, I must inform you all that the third floor corridor is out of bounds to all students, including prefects. Not only that, but I must caution you further; any who travel through this corridor can expect to die a most painful death."

Gasps gave way to fierce whispers at that last statement. Harry found himself laughing; something that dangerous was being held in a _school_?

"I'll have to figure out what that is all about. Draco, you can come with me!" Harry chuckled.

Draco paled. "Are you kidding me, Potter? Why on earth would I follow – "

"And now there is only one thing left to address – the school song!" The Headmaster clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. "Up you get! Let's show a little school spirit before we tuck ourselves away for the night!"

"I think now would be a great time to leave."

The boy was back, grimacing at the Headmaster. "C'mon, Potter. Professor Snape is leaving as well."

And so he was. The professor has slipped stealthily away from the table and out a side door of the Hall, his robes rippling behind him.

"Alright, then." Harry nodded to the other boys. "I'll see you later, I guess."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but closed it in favor of nodding back. Harry allowed the older boy to steer him away from the singing masses and out into the corridors.

"Much better," the taller boy sighed. "I was ready to get out of that hall."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not much of a singer, either. The rest was pretty excellent, though."

Harry studied the boy for a moment. The boy's black hair swept out of his face and minor traces of facial hair dusted his jaw. The boy's hazel eyes met his.

"Well then," said the boy. "I'm Felix Sykes, Potter. Welcome to Slytherin."

Harry shook the larger hand. "Thanks. Do you have any idea why Professor Snape wants to see me? I reckon I haven't had enough time to do anything wrong yet."

Sykes smirked.

"I have no idea," the boy admitted. "But I assume it's nothing bad. I will warn you that Professor Snape can be fairly vicious when he wants to be."

"I keep hearing that," Harry grinned. "He can't be that bad, can he? I mean, the man is a teacher, after all. If he's so mean, how does he teach?"

Sykes shook his head. "Mean is not the right word for him. Professor Snape is very demanding. He's an acclaimed Potions Master; with that title, he has a right to be a bit demanding, doesn't he?

"Luckily for us," Sykes continued. "He's our Head of House. He was in Slytherin while he was a student here. Professor Snape favors us a bit. He will let you know what he expects from you – as a matter of fact, that's probably why he wants to meet with you."

"Because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry muttered, snorting as the older boy grinned at him.

"Such a fancy title, Potter," the boy teased. "When do you plan on showing off your special powers?"

Harry shoved the boy in response, making Sykes laugh even harder.

Aside from that, the journey to Professor Snape's office was peaceful. Harry spent an inordinate amount of time looking around him. The halls were beautiful. Paintings hung on either side of the halls, containing people who waved and shouted greetings to the both of them. Harry was already fond of the school. The silence around him was slightly disconcerting, though. Growing up in the blasted orphanage, Harry was not used to quietness.

"Here we are, Potter," Sykes remarked. A sturdy wooden door stood in front of them. Harry looked to the boy. "Should I just enter or knock or what?"

"Knock," Sykes grinned. "Always knock with Professor Snape. The Potions classroom is right over there, by the way."

Sykes beckoned to a door down the dim hallway. Harry could make out the outline of a black door but little else.

"You'd better get in there," Sykes urged. "Professor Snape values punctuality." The older boy set off down the corridor, leaving Harry standing alone in front of the door.

' _Might as well get on with it_ ,' Harry sighed, knocking on the door.

"Enter."

The man's voice was deep and drawling, sending a shudder down Harry's spine. Harry exhaled slowly before pushing the door open.

Snape's office was dimly lit with glass jars taking up most of the wall space, filled with who knows what. Well, Snape probably knew. A wall clock hung on the wall behind a large, black desk. The desk was intimidating enough, but the man leaning on it with his arms crossed was even more so.

"Mr. Potter," The man began silkily, smoothly, sending another shudder down Harry's spine. "Pardon my posture. It is such an _honor_ to meet a celebrity, after all."

The man righted himself from the desk, his features morphing themselves into a slight sneer. Harry had no clue how to respond. The man was not acting overtly hostile, but the edge to his words was making Harry a bit nervous.

"Good evening, Professor," Harry said quietly. Perhaps the man was as easy to deter as the old orphanage matrons? They usually left him alone after a few soft-spoken words.

Professor Snape nodded back sharply, his eyes scrutinizing him with an unsettling intensity. "It will be a better one if you can assure me that you do not lack the drive I expect in my Slytherins. Where would you look to find a bezoar, Mr. Potter?"

Harry started. The man just wanted to _quiz_ him? "In a goat's stomach, Professor. They can cure most ingested poisons – except for ones that can negate a Bezoar's acidity."

The man nodded sharply once more, approaching Harry with silent steps. "You have enough sense to read beforehand – do not expect praise from me for meeting my expectations. I only praise those who exceed my expectations. Be forewarned; my expectations are very high."

"Yes sir," said Harry.

The man stared at him for a few seconds before gesturing to a chair. "Sit."

Harry moved past the man to sit in the offered chair. It was rather uncomfortable, but that was probably to be expected for a teacher's office.

Professor Snape glided past him to sit in the leather chair resting behind the black desk. "How do you take your tea, Mr. Potter?"

Harry raised his eyebrows but answered dutifully. "Two sugars, sir."

Professor Snape snapped long fingers and two cups of tea appeared on the table. Harry nodded his thanks and took a small sip. The liquid gave him a small respite from Snape's intense stare.

"My godson pleaded for me to play nice with you," Professor Snape said as Harry set down his cup. The man's black eyes crinkled as they narrowed. "Unfortunately, I do not play nice."

Harry stared at the man, waiting for him to continue.

"I loathed your father," Professor Snape admitted, a hint of a growl under his voice. "We were in the same year while we were students. No doubt you would like to hear pleasantries regarding your father. You would like to hear what a kind soul he was, yes?"

' _How on earth do I answer something like that_?' Harry thought wildly. He remained silent.

Professor Snape was leaning towards Harry, a sadistic gleam in his eye. Harry assumed the man was enjoying the opportunity to speak ill of his father.

"I have no fond memories of the man. He and his merry band of misfits were bullish, brutish, and the bane of my existence as an adolescent.

"And so let me warn you now, Mr. Potter, because I will not tolerate anything else; if you show even an ounce of the arrogance your father so proudly wore, your life here at Hogwarts will _not_ be pleasant."

The man's voice lowered into a harsh growl at the end, his teeth bared and eyes unforgiving. Harry nodded solemnly, uttering a soft "Yes, sir." What else was he to do?

"Draco has asked that I reserve judgment on you," Professor Snape continued. "And I shall do so. Prove yourself to me in class. I expect you to excel not only in my course, but in every course that you take during your seven years at Hogwarts – it is an expectation I hold for all of my Slytherins.

"I will speak with your yearmates in the morning before breakfast. There are some topics that I would like to breach with them before they start their careers here at Hogwarts. On the walls near each of the first year dorms, there is a map of the entire school that can be copied with the spell " _Duplicatus._ " I will not allow Slytherins to wander around the school in search of their classes."

Harry eyed the man. Professor Snape had begun pacing at the beginning of his speech and stopped in front of Harry's chair, eyeing him expectantly. The growl in his voice added a threatening "or else" to his message.

"I will tell them, sir," Harry said. "Is there anything else you would like to talk to me about?"

"Remember my warnings," Professor Snape said. "And I shall see you in class tomorrow. You can expect more difficult questions, there. I shall show you the way to the common room."

Harry finished his last sip of tea and jumped up from his seat. Professor Snape's office was giving him the jitters, anyway. Harry followed the professor down the hallway that Sykes had left. The common room was just down the hall after making two lefts and Professor Snape had not said a word to him since leaving the office. Maybe Draco had a point – the professor was a bit creepy.

"Generare Atrum."

The blank wall on the right side of the corridor slowly slid open, revealing a luxurious dark room furnished to the teeth. Black, leather couches and chairs decorated the living space in front of the fireplace. Chairs, desks, and lamps – all black – sat behind the couches near the stairs that led to the dorm rooms. The entire space was bathed in a comfortable green hue. Harry ducked his head and slipped by the professor, but stopped when a hand gripped his shoulder firmly.

"Until tomorrow, Potter," Professor Snape drawled, a gleam in his eyes that Harry did not want to fully acknowledge.

The hand pushed him forward with a minor bit of force. Harry grimaced as the wall slid shut. Okay, the professor was really creepy.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Draco was walking towards him, concern creasing his brow. Behind him, Zabini and Nott lazily looked on from one of the black couches in the room.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Professor Snape just wanted to talk. We should be on good terms, or at least passable ones, I think."

"Good," Draco said, relief flooding his features. He told me about your father. I was afraid that your father would be a problem."

"I never knew the man," Harry said incredulously. "How can I defend someone I never knew?"

"It would be pointless and sentimental," said Zabini. "I've had several 'fathers' but none were ever around long."

Nott snorted. "Your mother is dangerous, mate. That would be why."

Harry shook his head as the two began laughing. Honestly, he had had enough socializing for one day.

"I think I'm going to head downstairs, okay guys?" Harry said, motioning to the stairs leading down to their dorm room.

Nott and Zabini ignored him, continuing to talk. Draco nodded. "Let's go then."

Harry frowned. "I wanted to read, actually."

"And you can," Draco acknowledged. "After you tell me what happened when we were in line getting Sorted."

Harry sighed. "Alright, come on then."

The two boys maneuvered past the couches and people conversing to descend to the first year dorms. Just as Professor Snape had said, a map of the castle was positioned outside of the door. Harry opened the door and smiled as he looked at the room. It was wide and rectangular with a door on the other side of the room, most likely leading to a bathroom. Seven large four-poster beds lined the walls with small desks in the middle of the room, much like the ones in the common room. Harry spotted his trunk in front of the door nearest the bathroom.

"So – talk," Draco said, drawing a chair from the desk to sit in. "You would not believe how much I've suffered waiting to hear what happened."

Harry laughed softly. "Heaven forbid a Malfoy have to wait for anything."

Draco smirked, but said nothing else.

Harry sighed as he sat down on his new bed, reveling in its softness. "When we were in line, I was looking around the Head Table. When I looked at the new Defense teacher – "

"Quirrell?" Draco questioned, his eyebrows drawing together. "The stuttering idiot?"

"Yeah, him," said Harry, his fingers stroking the soft blanket on his bed. "He was looking at me so intensely and it frightened me. And then, my scar started hurting really badly. Needless to say, it was a bit freaky."

Draco's eyes widened. "Your scar hurt? I've never heard of such a thing. Has it ever done that before?"

Harry shook his head. He was lying, but Draco did not need to know about his meeting with the thief of Gringotts.

Draco stood, jumping slightly on the balls of his feet. "How could the blubbering idiot cause something like that? It had to be a coincidence, right? I'll look up curse scars sometime this week to see if anything could cause that."

Harry laughed, dropping the blanket.

"I doubt anyone had done research on a curse scar caused by the Killing Curse, Draco," Harry said sardonically. "It just gave me a scare. The man was looking at me so weirdly. I plan to keep an eye on him though, at the very least."

Draco sighed. "I'll help you, I guess. Blast it, Potter; it's the first day and you are already causing trouble."

Harry laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "It's what I do. Can I read now? I've almost finished this book."

Draco nodded, walking to his own bed. "I have a book in here from father that I would like to read as well. It covers modern modifications to runes. You should read it sometime."

"I may," Harry admitted, flipping open his book that was already near the end. "In the meantime, I have the other books your father lent me."

Harry shut the curtains around his bed, drew his wand and uttered a quick " _Lumos_."

Hogwarts was truly a majestic place, Harry mused. The grounds were green and lush, the castle was old and storied, and the professors – perhaps with the exception of the new Defense teacher, Professor Quirrell – were a wealth of knowledge. There was potential here, at the very least, something that he had never found at the orphanage. This was a place to come into his power, to learn of a new world that suited him so much better that the one he had left.

Here, Harry had friends, something the orphanage and Muggle world had never offered him. Draco was almost Harry's opposite; he was born into a wealthy family and lived with magic his whole life. Cedric was much less complicated. The Hufflepuff simply liked him for who he was – Harry. Harry grinned in remembrance of their first meeting. Harry could certainly return the favor.

And now, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini seemed to like him well enough. That was welcome as well. The boys were already friends with each other and knew Draco well. Harry could certainly fit into whatever social structure the three already had in place.

Tomorrow was a new dawn, not only in light but in his life. He would attend magical classes for the first time, and he may even have the time to approach the Headmaster for private lessons.

'In the meantime,' Harry thought gleefully, opening the curtains to place his finished book in his trunk and to retrieve _Defensive Dueling: Dodging, Deflecting, Disarming, Defeating._ ' _I have a new book to read.'_

Life was looking up.

* * *

The door slammed violently, and Quirinus Quirrell's breath came in raspy heaves.

The voice in his head chuckled sinisterly.

' _Get out, get out! I never wanted you here! You are a monster!_ ' He thought desperately, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

' _Liar_ ,' the voice said amusedly. ' _You wanted my power and you came to me willingly. However, Quirinus, your folly was in believing that I could be subdued. Lord Voldemort can be controlled by no man. I am not a monster, either; I am simply what society has made me. I shall also be society's savior_.'

' _Leave me alone_ ,' Quirrell moaned, his hands clasping the sides of his head as he staggered through the door to his bedroom. ' _Why must you torment me? I will never do your bidding_!'

' _Oh, you shall do as I say, Quirinus. You are alone in your struggle; who would ever believe you?_ ' Lord Voldemort chuckled before his voice grew icy. ' _Our original deal was very clear; you were to act as a host to me, allowing me to grow in strength while seeking the Philosopher's Stone. In return, I promised you glory and power that you can only imagine._

' _Why must you fight me, Quirinus? Surely you see that your efforts are futile? You are only preventing me from growing stronger. You cannot stop me from possessing you. And once I have the Philosopher's Stone, I daresay that I shall have no need for such a lowly, uncooperative servant_.'

Quirrell sat down shakily, looking into the full length mirror across the room. His skin was pale and beaded with sweat. His hands trembled with a fear that was not faked. The… _thing_ inside him was ugly, perverted in its morals, and he wanted so badly to be removed from his decision. Power was not worth _this._

' _I will never help you get the Philosopher's Stone,'_ Quirrell said firmly, even as a shudder of fear ran down his spine _. 'I will stop you if it is the last thing I ever do.'_

' _Do you not understand?'_ Lord Voldemort softly intoned. _'I, Quirinus, am all powerful. I cannot be stopped - not by the likes of a pathetic excuse of a wizard like you, nor by a wizard like Dumbledore. Would you like proof of my power? You did not think I would not notice you trying to reach out to Harry Potter, did you? How is an eleven year old boy supposed to save you?'_

_Quirrell barely kept the cry of pain from reaching his mouth. 'He has beaten you once before. He can do it again. He will save me, I am sure of it!'_

' _Ah,'_ Lord Voldemort replied teasingly _. 'And why should he want to? He is but a boy. Why should he have to do a man's work when said man cannot do it himself?'_

' _Because he beat you once before!'_ Quirrell proclaimed _. 'You cannot kill him! He's the Boy-Who-Lived!'_

' _Yes, you've said as much,' Lord Voldemort drawled. 'But he was only a baby at the time. Why would he fight me now when he could join me instead?'_

' _Because you are a monster!'_ Quirrell gasped, his stomach wrenching painfully _. 'He would never join a monster like you!'_

' _I grow weary of this conversation. You, Quirinus, are powerless to stop me. And now, I shall give you a taste of my power.'_

_Quirinus Quirrell drowned in pain as a sinister laugh raced through his mind and around bedroom. The pain was enough to pass out from, but something kept his body upright. His reflection in the mirror across the room morphed to accommodate the new, gleaming red eyes._


	8. The Dueling Pit

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry raised his head from his hand, dazed at the sharp tone of voice. Professor McGonagall was staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"I was attempting to explain the importance of geometric shapes in basic Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall continued. "Might I have your attention, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded swiftly, sniffing slightly to fight of the haze that had surrounded him.

"Five points from Slytherin, I think," added Professor McGonagall sternly before she returned to her lecture.

Harry sighed as Draco grimaced and muttered "Bloody witch" to his right. The joy he had first felt of entering the Wizarding World had started to fade, leaving Harry slightly disappointed. Classes were _boring_. The teachers had been going over small details in theory; the problem was, specifically, that it had been two _bloody_ weeks since the start of school and Harry had learned a grand total of four spells in class.

Professor McGonagall had shown off her Animagus ability on the first day of class and _that_ had been interesting. Since then, Professor McGonagall lectured on small details of non-animate Transfiguration that made Harry feel like ivy had begun to grow in his head.

He was restless and despite the severely light course load, he seemed to be one of the top of his class. Most first years had trouble turning a toothpick into a needle – hell, some _still_ weren't able to do it! Harry remembered the look on Professor McGonagall's face when he had transfigured the toothpick perfectly on the first try. She had given him twenty points and a fleeting smile.

Draco seemed pleased by his abilities, if a bit puzzled. Draco was well ahead of most of the students as well, but apparently even he had not picked up on spells as fast as Harry currently was. Harry had shrugged when Draco told him; Draco, after all, had been several years younger when he first began learning spells. However, Harry knew that Draco could not do wandless magic like he could.

The only Professor who had really tested his students was Professor Snape. Over the past two weeks, Harry found that he liked the professor. He always knew where he stood with Professor Snape. As long as he was playing the role of the proper student, putting in effort where it was required, Professor Snape was willing to teach well ahead of course schedules. Professor Snape also had no qualms in teaching things other than potions. Harry liked potions well enough, but spells were what he was really interested in. Professor Snape had met with the first years that first morning of class and taught them a defensive shield and several minor offensive spells; according to Professor Snape, such spells were necessary.

"I will not always be there to hold your hand," Professor Snape had said. "Therefore, you will look out for one another. If any of you are incapable or caught unawares, you bring shame to our House."

Harry could certainly agree with that. Of course, he already knew more spells than just the ones Professor Snape had taught them.

Theo and Blaise were snickering softly behind him, bringing his consciousness back to the present. The two were lifting small bits of paper with the newly learned Levitation Charm and placing them in the hair of the bushy-haired Gryffindor on the front row. Harry smirked fondly. Those two were trouble in capital letters. They got bored with class as easily as he did. Around them, no one was safe.

"For homework, I would like you all to give me 12 inches on the properties of inanimate to inanimate Transfiguration and how geometric design factors into shaping the new product," said Professor McGonagall. Harry stretched with a loud yawn and picked up his book bag, following Draco out the door.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry turned, raising his eyebrows as Professor McGonagall folded her arms. Draco sent him a questioning glance but Harry waved him off.

"It's fine," Harry murmured to the other boy. "I'll see you at lunch."

"I will save you a spot," Draco nodded. "Don't take too long, Harry."

Harry grimaced and make a jerky motion with his shoulders, as if to say "It really isn't up to me, is it?" before turning to face the Professor.

"Take a seat, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, gesturing to a chair on the front row before leaning against the teacher's desk. Her desk sat several feet in front of him.

Harry sat in silence as the Professor studied him. Why should he have to speak first? She called him back in here, after all. Perhaps she was trying to intimidate him or something.

"Are you alright?" Professor McGonagall asked. Harry blinked.

"I'm doing fine, Professor. Thanks for asking," Harry said softly. Surely there was more to it than that?

"If that's the case, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall straightened, her face becoming more severe. "Why did you decide that my class was to become your personal nap time?"

Harry fought the urge to scowl. "I was not napping. I let my mind wander a bit and lost focus. I apologize. May I go now?"

"You most certainly may not," Professor McGonagall snapped. Silence hung between them before she lifted the tin off the teacher's desk. "Have a biscuit, Potter."

"No thanks," Harry said, trying to hold down his anger. "Lunch has just started. I don't want to ruin my appetite."

"Nonsense, Potter. Have a biscuit," The Professor shook the tin several times in front of his face. Harry reached in to grab a biscuit just to stop the damn rattling. He held it between his hands.

"Thanks," said Harry grudgingly.

Professor McGonagall nodded as she set the tin back down. "I would like to know why you cannot seem to control your mind during my class. You have done well practically, but your attention these last few classes have been less than acceptable."

Harry sighed, munching on the outer rim of the biscuit. "It's because I already know the topics you are lecturing on."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows rose. "So you fully understand planar surfaces and their remolding during Transfiguration?"

Harry shrugged. Honestly, he didn't even need a damn wand to do what she wanted him to do. "It's easy. I don't even have to really focus that much on shapes. I just focus on what I want the object to become and then make it happen."

"So you ignore the small steps required in Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall intervened sharply, her eyes narrowing. "That is unacceptable, Mr. Potter. You must understand all the aspects of the things you are Transfiguring. Theory is extremely important in this course, especially to novices at Transfiguration."

"But it's not that impressive," Harry protested. "And I study theory on my own. And it's not just your class, Professor. I feel the same about all of them right now. I dunno – I guess I just assumed classes would be more difficult than this."

"So you expected me to instruct you all of Animagus transformations the first week of class," Professor McGonagall retorted, the skin near her eyes crinkling.

Harry scoffed. "Of course not. I just expected…more."

Professor McGonagall ducked her head and sighed, straightening herself and softening her features.

"You are very talented," Professor McGonagall remarked, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Harry felt a shudder pass through him, but did not turn away from the Professor's eyes. It was nice to hear that others acknowledged his talent at times.

"I cannot stress this enough, however," she continued, shaking his shoulder slightly. "You need this background in spell theory before you begin major work. With your skill level, I know it's hard; I see the strength already behind your spellcasting. But I need you to trust me here, Harry. Your time to shine will come: be patient."

Harry sighed and nodded. Maybe he could be patient. He still planned to talk to Professor Dumbledore later today, however. He had sent the Headmaster a letter asking for an appointment after lunch. The man had jovially responded, leaving Harry eager to meet with him.

"Is there anything else, Professor?" Harry asked. "I would like to get a bite to eat with my friends."

"You may go," Professor McGonagall said softly, rising to allow Harry to stand. "Instead of the homework assignment I gave the other students, however, I'd like you to give me 12 inches on the importance of proper spell preparation and spell theory as well as the consequences of reckless casting."

Harry closed his eyes so that Professor McGonagall could not see him roll them. Really, she was being a bit ridiculous. His stomach, however, stopped that train of thought with a mighty lurch.

"I had better get going, Professor," said Harry, picking up his book bag once more. Professor McGonagall sighed, shaking her head as the door closed behind him.

"Two weeks and he is already a hassle," She muttered scornfully.

* * *

"Harry!" Theo grinned, poking out a fork full of potatoes in Harry's direction. "So glad you could join us."

Harry smirked before taking his seat next to Draco. The boy was looking at him with eyebrows raised, obviously expecting an explanation. Blaise, sitting across from him, was giving him the same look.

"Damn, guys. Let me fill my plate at least," Harry laughed, scooping up chicken legs from the table to adorn his plate. His stomach was clawing itself with hunger at this point.

"That's filled enough," Draco stated mildly. "Now spill. What was the tabby cat's problem?"

Harry smiled through his mouthful of food before swallowing. "She wanted to know why I was day dreaming during her class. I basically told her that the class was boring and I was looking for something more challenging."

Blaise whistled. "Harry, that's a bit bold to say, don't you think?"

Harry winked, munching happily on a mouthful of garlic bread. "It isn't what you say, Blaise; it's how you say it."

Hedwig swooped down in front of him then, clutching a return letter from his only correspondent. Harry smiled and fed her a bit of chicken before ripping open the letter. Rich, purple ink met his eyes:

_Dear Harry,_

_It is always such a treat to see your lovely owl, Hedwig. I am pleased to hear that you are enjoying her company and the books I have lent you._

_In regards to your last letter - you do realize that this is only your first year as a student? You cannot expect classes to fit to your admittedly superior standards. Draco has expressed similar concerns with his schooling. While I am on the Board of Governors, I cannot push change the curriculum radically in so little time. Quite frankly, other students would not be able to cope. You and Draco shall have to find other ways to make use of your time, I'm afraid._

_This is also why I lent you books from my personal library; I could see your potential from miles away. From Draco's letters, it sounds as if you have stayed away from the…shall we say more shadowed subjects. That is very wise of you, Harry; after all, it is best to stay away from things you might not be able to handle._

_I never knew Quirinus Quirrell personally so I cannot verify if his behavior is genuine. I can of course come to evaluate him in the near future, but I cannot do so this week. Please keep me up to date with any suspicious behavior on his part and I shall schedule an appointment with him next week._

_Narcissa sends her greetings as well as a request to monitor Draco's oral hygiene. He is a wizard, naturally, but mothers do not see sense at times. There is nothing for it, I'm afraid to say._

_Let me know if there is anything I can do for you. A close friend of mine who reportedly patrols dungeons has reluctantly praised your efforts and abilities, and knowing him as long as I have, that's saying something. You may have a friend in him after all._

_All my best and fond regards,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Harry tried to bite down on the indignant anger he felt at Lucius' words. ' _Stay away from things you might not be able to handle, huh?_ ' Harry thought viciously. ' _We'll see about that_.'

In truth, he had stayed away from the Dark Arts books because he did not know where to begin. How does one start Dark Arts, anyway?

The other three boys were staring at him as he looked up from the letter. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well?" Theo said, as if it summed everything up. Harry tried to look stern but the others were not buying it.

"Bloody nosy, the lot of you," Harry muttered. "This is from Draco's father. I had a few questions for him and he wrote back." As an aside, he added, "Your mother says to brush your teeth, Drake-Drake."

Draco flushed at the pet name as the other boys guffawed. Lucius had revealed that particular name in his last letter to Harry and Harry had been waiting for the prime opportunity to use it. By Draco's scowl, Harry judged he had picked a great time.

"Funny, Potter. Really amusing," Draco scowled, snatching the letter from his hand. Harry shrugged before turning back to his plate.

"Still concerned about Quirrell?" Draco questioned, his gaze flicking to the professor in question.

"Yeah," Harry shuddered. There had been no more pain in his scar, but the man still seemed _off_. "I'm glad that your father is going to investigate him."

"He will find anything suspicious," Draco stated confidently, nibbling at the corner of his sandwich. "He always has been good at that."

In mere moments, a body pressed in on Harry's left, forcing its way onto the bench. Harry looked up from his plate into the bright gray eyes of Cedric Diggory.

"How's it going, Harry?" Cedric grinned, reaching out quickly to ruffle Harry's hair. Really, Harry huffed, the Hufflepuff needed to stop doing that.

"Going well, Ced," said Harry, flicking the older boy on the ear. "Learn anything new today in class?"

"Yes, actually," He beamed. "Professor Flitwick taught us the Summoning and Banishing Charms. I haven't quite gotten the hang of it but I should have it down by this weekend.

"Brilliant," Harry smiled it return. Cedric simply made him smile, for some reason. "You'll have to show me how that's done later."

Cedric laughed. "Of course I will. Do you ever take a break learning spells, though? Your head's always in that book you've got."

Harry shook his head. "Not really. It's fun for me. I didn't grow up around magic so every little bit excites me."

"That orphanage must have really been no fun, huh?" Cedric grimaced. "I just wanted to come over and check on you. You have plans for this afternoon?"

Harry nodded, swallowing a mouthful of green beans before responding. "I'm done with classes, but I've got an appointment with the Headmaster. I plan to study later on, too."

Cedric patted him heartily on the back, grinning once more. "I'll have to meet up with you then. Professor Dumbledore's a fun guy. I think you'll enjoy that meeting. Anyway, I've got to go, pal. I'll talk to you later!"

Harry grinned after the boy as Cedric dashed back over to the Hufflepuff table. Some of the older Slytherins were looking strangely at Cedric, but they weren't opposed to him sitting at their table at least.

Turning back to the table – and more importantly, his plate of food – Blaise, Draco, Theo, and even Crabbe and Goyle who had been stuffing their merry faces down at the end of the table were all looking at him.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Harry moaned. "Seriously, guys; stop staring at me!" He still wasn't completely used to people paying so much attention to him.

"You and your pet Hufflepuff," Draco murmured amusedly, earning a shove from Harry.

* * *

"Come in, Harry!"

Harry opened the sturdy wooden door to reveal the most fascinating room he had ever seen. Gizmos and gadgets sat on shelves, some whirling around making noise or flashing colors, some giving off smoke in a variety of colors. A shocking crimson-colored bird sat upon a golden perch, its tail feathers matching the brilliant tone of the perch. Harry wished he had more eyes to look around. _This_ was magic. The bird let out a soft, warm warble after staring at Harry for a moment.

Behind the large oak desk sat the Headmaster, wearing robes of a deep purple and a fond smile. Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled pleasantly in Harry's company. Harry flashed the man a smile before sitting down in the leather chair before him.

"Your office is brilliant," Harry said, drawing a chuckle out of the man. "Really interesting. It reminds me of the first time I did magic."

"That is lovely to hear, Harry, if I may call you so," Professor Dumbledore said warmly. "I was surprised to receive your letter but beyond pleased to have the opportunity to talk with you. How are your classes? Your teachers say nothing but positive things about you, even the more stubborn ones," He added humorously.

Harry smiled, shrugging sheepishly. "They've been alright, I guess. That is why I wanted to talk to you, actually." Harry breathed deeply. He did not really want talk of his wandless magic getting out, but it seemed necessary in this situation.

"I've been able to do wandless magic since I was young," Harry started, looking at the shelf above the Professor's head. Professor Dumbledore had steepled his fingers and was watching his face, but Harry could not get himself to match the Headmaster's eyes just yet.

"It was little things at first," Harry continued. "I could make something roll to me or I could push things away. Eventually, I learned to repair things and really do whatever I made my mind up to do.

I think, because of this, classes don't really strike home with me as much. The classes are brilliant, don't get me wrong, but they are teaching things I can already do _wandlessly,_ you know? And doing it with a wand is even easier. I wanted to ask you if you would consider teaching me personally a bit because of this. I feel like I am already past what the professors are instructing others in and I would like to learn more. Magic is…wonderful. I cannot get enough of it and I would like to study a bit on my own. I have no guide for that, so I was hoping you could help?"

Harry ended his little speech with a hopeful lilt to his words. He finally plucked up the courage to look directly into Professor Dumbledore's eyes. His blue eyes were looking at him past his half-moon spectacles, down his crooked nose and past tall, steepled fingers. Professor Dumbledore had listened patiently and now seemed to be measuring his words.

"First, Harry, let me inform you that I am not outright declining," Professor Dumbledore started, raising one finger. "But what exactly would you like to study?"

"Everything," Harry said honestly. "I want to learn as much as possible about as many things as possible. It all means something to me. Anything you'd be willing to teach, I would love to learn."

Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely. "The problem, Harry, is that I have over five-hundred students -"

"None that can do what I can do," Harry intervened. He did not like the look on the Headmaster's face.

"None that can do wandless magic," He acknowledged, smiling slightly at Harry. "Which is truly remarkable and something to be proud of. However, I cannot offer each student private lessons with me, as much as I would like to. I have other responsibilities that take up too much of my time. Perhaps if you had some focused material that you wished to learn, I could help you. In the end, however, this is probably a wise decision. At this stage in your education, personal instruction is not what you require."

Professor Dumbledore smiled sadly at him. Harry, personally, was stunned.

"But, Professor," Harry argued. "You could teach me whatever you wished to for any amount of time. I'm open to anything. I just want to learn."

The Headmaster nodded to him, still smiling that sad smile. "I beg your pardon, but that is quite obvious to me, and as a teacher I am overjoyed to see a student so willing to learn. What I will say to you is this – go study on your own this semester. Find what truly interests you. When you return from the Christmas break, perhaps we can work something out."

Harry felt his jaw opening. This was really getting out of hand. "But – "

"My dear boy, I will suggest books - I will even give you a pass to the Restricted Section of the library," Professor Dumbledore affirmed, drawing a quill and ink from the desk as he said so. "But I feel at this point in your education, you will learn more individually than I could teach you. Go study. Continue to work hard. Come back after the Christmas holidays and I shall do my best to guide your studies then."

Harry heaved a hefty sigh, lowering his head in disappointment. "Thank you for your time, sir," he said softly. He could not keep the dejected note out of his voice. He stood to leave, but the Headmaster stopped him.

"Please take this," Professor Dumbledore said, holding out two sheets of parchment. "One is your pass to the Restricted Section of the library. The other is a list of books that would suggest that you read. They cover a wealth of topics. This is all I can provide you with for now."

Harry nodded, avoiding the Professor's eyes and stuffing the pieces of parchment into his robes. He wanted to make as dignified an exit as possible. Of course, Professor Dumbledore had to ruin that.

"I am proud of you, Harry," He said, his wizened hand settling near the nape of his neck. "You remind me a lot of how I was as a child. Just remember that there is more to the world than magic. There are those that befriend us, those that love us, and we must always find our balance in the world. Magic is a constant; it will always be there. Friends, duties and choices all change with time."

Harry tried not to let the words affect him as he was led out of the office.

* * *

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as he let the book fall shut, rubbing slightly at the corner of his eye. He had just finished his book on defensive dueling, but could not stop thinking about his meeting with Professor Dumbledore. The wizard was kind, caring, and that made his refusal hurt that much more. If he had simply declined outright, Harry would not have gotten his hopes up.

Draco was sitting on the other side of a black couch, conversing with Daphne Greengrass, a pretty girl in their year. She was nice enough as well, though a bit innocent. For a Slytherin, that is.

They were in the Common Room and looking around, Harry now saw a small argument being had with a few upper years. A burly, black haired boy was snarling at Felix Sykes. Sykes stared back impassively, but his hazel eyes betrayed his building anger. Several upper years were standing around, looking passive but watching the action sharply.

The burly boy leaned in close to Sykes and apparently said something unforgiveable. Sykes' eyes flashed with unbridled anger before he reached out, palming the burly boy's face, and shoving him roughly back.

"Woah, Draco," Harry murmured, pushing lightly at Draco's shoulder. The boy whirled around with an inquisitive look, but followed Harry's pointing hand. Silence had fallen upon the entire Common Room with every gaze locked onto the scowling boys.

"Dueling Pit," Sykes said harshly, his voice carrying. The room broke out into whispers as a fourth year boy sprinted out of the Common Room in the direction of Snape's office. Harry looked around wildly. Draco had his eyebrows raised as he peeked over the back of the leather couch. Theo and Blaise, both close by, looked on in puzzlement. Sykes and the other boy were both fuming, but neither had moved. The only difference was that both boys had their wands out.

Draco turned to him to shrug. "Well, shit," Harry echoed. None of the younger years, it seemed, had the faintest clue of what was going on.

What was going on was answered as Professor Snape swept into the Common Room, wand drawn, drawing silence with his presence.

"What is the grievance?" Professor Snape demanded, stepping between the two boys. Sykes answered promptly, "An insult to my position and to my family. In return, demand a challenge in the Dueling Pit."

"And the stakes?" Professor Snape questioned mildly, turning his head minutely to glance at Flint. Harry watched the boy grin, one not at all polite.

"His job as prefect," Flint said, his voice low and gleeful. The crowd surrounding them tittered with excitement.

Professor Snape nodded slowly at Flint before returning his attention to Sykes. "And in return?" He drawled.

"His Quidditch Captaincy," Sykes muttered lowly, anger coloring his features. Professor Snape studied the boy for a moment before addressing those assembled in the Common Room.

"The grievance and terms have been accepted," Professor Snape said softly. "I was hoping to inform the first years of the tradition of the Dueling Pit later this week, but that choice has been taken from me."

Professor Snape spared the two boys a small glare. "I expect an older student to fill the first years in on the rules and traditions of the Dueling Pit."

Professor Snape clasped the spare hands of the two boys, raising them into the air. "For now, we duel. One fight to finish the feud."

Several students cheered as Professor Snape led the boys down the dorm staircase, following behind.

"C'mon, kiddies," An upper year girl urged. "I'll tell you what's going on. You won't want to miss this."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. "Dueling Pit" sounded fun, whatever it was. He hopped off the couch and followed behind the girl. Theo was to his left, grinning. Harry guessed that he was sporting a grin of his own.

"The Dueling Pit is a Slytherin tradition," the girl announced, leading them all down the spiral staircase. "No one speaks of it unless it is to other Slytherins."

"I guess that's why my father never mentioned it," Draco said sullenly. He never was one to be left out. Harry roughly patted his shoulder in a motion of encouragement.

"We use it to settle fights, basically," She continued. "There is proper protocol of course, but the Head of House is left to care for that. It is a way that all Slytherins can face the rest of the school as a unit. All disputes can be resolved in the Pit.

"Dueling here does not follow international rules. There are no seconds. We fight until one is incapacitated, not wandless. Anything is permitted as long as it does not kill, irrevokably maim, or cause so much damage that it cannot be healed by the Head of House."

"So they will fight until one cannot get up," Harry surmised. The group had reached the bottom floor of the staircase and all the Slytherins were trying to cram inside. Harry peered around a rather large older boy to see the outline of a black door and faint lights from inside.

The girl nodded, turning with a pleased smirk on her face. "Nothing else to do now but enjoy the show, firsties."

The girl ducked through the door, leaving the first years to view a most marvelous sight.

"Holy shit," Blaise breathed. Harry felt that he had summed it up flawlessly. Through the door was a small, circular arena in the style of the ancient gladiators. Stairs led down from the doorway to the black marble arena. Rows of wooden bleachers circled the arena, raised up to be beyond the reach of stray spells. Rows of torches adorned the walls over the heads of the spectators.

It was a breathtaking sight to Harry. The arena was quite small, only forty feet or so round. The bleachers walled off any escape. This duel would be from close range with little time to dodge or duck.

Professor Snape positioned the boys on opposite sides of the arena, reciting an apparently memorized list of rules. Harry tried to control his excitement as Snape let his hand fall.

Spells. Colors. Shouts and glares and a primal battle of wills. Harry was enraptured. Sykes flicked a shield in place as a sickly yellow colored spell met it, the opposing spell flowing around the shield like water and continuing on to hit the wall behind Sykes. Harry breathed in a rich smell, filled with passion and endless possibilities. _This_ was what he was waiting for.

The whirl of colors washed over Harry as he took in the battle. Flint seemed to not understand the concept of defense or maybe he did not need it; the boy simply threw spell after spell at Sykes, who used his limited space to roll out of the way of some unsightly looking curses. It occurred to Harry that Sykes was not comfortable deflecting such strong curses.

" _Arma Diruptia!"_ Sykes growled in a moment's pause from Flint, flicking his wand down towards Flint's legs. The purple, sizzling spell, however, met the black marble well in front of Flint and dissipated. Harry felt surprise catch him. Why would Sykes waste time to fire a spell with such poor aim?

" _Compesio!"_ Flint shouted. A golden spell wrapped around Syke's feet, chaining them to the ground. The boy ignored the effect; there would be no time to counter the spell as another was sent from the encroaching Flint.

Flint was going to win, Harry realized quickly. Sykes had just been hit with several cutting curses as Flint continued to approach the boy. Sykes was bleeding from his chest and arms as well as his forehead.

With another step, Flint swaggered his way to his prey, a sadistic gleam in his eyes. Step. Step. Another step.

_BOOM!_

The noise echoed through the room as fractured pieces of marble rained down on the arena. Harry felt himself gasp. Sykes was crouched with an arm over his face to protect himself. Flint, however…

' _Damn, is he breathing?_ ' Harry wondered. "Bloody hell," Draco murmured from his right. Marcus Flint's body was thrown against the side of the arena, bleeding profusely from his head. Bloody hell indeed.

Professor Snape stepped in from the side of the arena, moving to remove the curse from Sykes and to heal him even as Flint bled out onto the floor. Such was the fate of the loser, Harry supposed.

Sykes shook hands with Professor Snape before meeting the approving Slytherin crowd. The boy seemed cheerful enough, if a bit tired. It seemed that Flint had had an edge in power, but Sykes was awfully crafty, anticipating his inevitable disadvantage.

"You've got to teach me that one, Sykes!" Harry shouted over the crowd. The boy winked in return, nodding. "You learn whatever's necessary to win, Potter," Sykes returned before heading out of the Dueling Pit, the whole of Slytherin in his wake. He was the King of the House, if at least for one night. Harry looked back just before he left the room; Snape was kneeling over Flint's prone body, summoning a house elf to bring him potions. There was no honor left for Flint, even as the stronger of the two duelists. There was no pride to be won in defeat; there was no glory for a loser.

* * *

"That was amazing!" Draco gushed back in their dorm room. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in a daze, as if shocked by what they had seen. Theo was grinning, as always, and practicing wand movements on his bed.

"Sykes is brilliant. I'd have never thought to act so weak. What a daring move, too!" Blaise cheered. Harry scrunched his brows together, knowing better. It was no act; Sykes had read the duel perfectly. He had been at a disadvantage from the start.

"Night, guys," Harry said vaguely, reaching for his trunk. He had a new book to start. Clasping it in his hand, he drew the curtains of his four-poster shut, ignoring the answering words from his yearmates.

' _You learn whatever's necessary to win, huh_?' Harry reflected. He stared down at the book in his hands. It was a sturdy leather book with gleaming gold letters, almost tauntingly displayed.

_It sounds as if you have stayed away from the…shall we say more shadowed subjects. That is very wise of you, Harry; after all, it is best to stay away from things you might not be able to handle._

Harry recoiled from the words. They stung his mind with challenge.

' _I can certainly handle it, Lucius_ ,' Harry fumed mentally. He made his mind up right then.

Lying back into the comfortable pillows, Harry wrenched open the cover of _Ritualism: Borne of Sacrifice, Treasured for Eternity_ and turned to the preface.

Harry took a deep breath. " _Whatever's necessary_ ," he reminded himself in a whisper. Whatever's necessary - including Dark Arts.


	9. Red Eyes See All

Harry breathed in shakily as he examined the knife in his hands. It was simply a butter knife – one nicked from dinner this evening with a scripted "H" engraved into the handle. He was kneeling inside the Forbidden Forest in a bright clearing near the edge of the woods, a clearing that was flooded with light from the moon. Harry looked down unsurely at the book resting innocently at his side. Tonight, he was going to try…a ritual.

' _An easy one_ ,' Harry reminded himself. The book that Lucius Malfoy had lent him had described this particular ritual as "simple, with only minor sacrifices." But just the idea of practicing a ritual made Harry uncertain. The book had been very up front on the potential consequences of a ritual and did not approach them from the vantage point of a practitioner. The book simply researched them, giving no special wisdom of how to complete rituals. Harry stuck a leaf between the open pages and flipped back to the preface of the book, reading it one more time:

_Rituals have been around since the origins of magic, a way to gather magic and to convert it into another form. The ancient Druidic magical culture used rituals to develop primitive defenses, enchantments, and more. The Druids studied and developed their rituals on Inis Mona._

_Rituals have become much more efficient since the Druid's simplistic times. The additions of words, runes, and human sacrifice have added newfound powers to ritualism. The combination of intention being echoed in heart, voice, earth, runes, and sacrifice have added a power to ritualism that wastes very little of the properties' magical potential._

_A ritual means more than just its effects. It results in a conversion of power, but the process differentiates in its practice._

_The art of a ritual is in its aforementioned sacrifice. Just as one must sacrifice physical effort for physical gain, so must one sacrifice magic in one form to gain it in another. Ritualism is a practice that follows no coded path; instead, words, materials, magic, and intent all combine to produce a physical change._

_Some rituals require that they be done at a certain time of day. For some, particular days of the year are necessary. Location may be important as well. All of these details aid in expressing the intentions of the practitioner._

_The rituals described in this book come with their own history as well as the name and background of the individual who created them. A word of caution: for those who wish to practice these rituals may face difficulty in gathering the materials described. In most rituals, replacements may be used, but the replacements may alter the desired effect of the ritual. We implore aspired practitioners to do further research on specific rituals before attempting them and to refrain from practicing without supervision. A corrupted ritual may cause severe damage to the practitioner._

The preface had really concerned Harry the first time he had read it, specifically the "refrain from practicing without supervision" bit, but there simply was nothing for it. Who was he to go to? Professor McGonagall? Professor Snape? _Draco_? Harry had scoffed at the time. They would all try to talk him out of it, he was sure. Plus, what business was it of any of theirs? His power and knowledge was his own; they had no claim to it. No, instead, Harry had waited until tonight, a Friday night, so he had the maximum amount of recovery time in case it was necessary.

Harry nodded distractedly as he turned back to the ritual he had picked.

_ The Ritual of Mental Clarity  _

_The Ritual of Mental Clarity uses the magical potential of living herbs to empower the human mind for limited periods of time. The effects of this ritual are not permanent and thus, need only minor "fueling." The ritual, therefore, is a simple one, requiring only minor sacrifices._

_The practitioner sacrifices the magical essence of living plants, fertile earth, and sitting water. Leaves must be gathered from certain living plants (a comprehensive list of acceptable plants is listed on page 147), and must be woven into a crown to be placed upon the head. The practitioner must then create a risen moat of earth in the shape of a circle, three inches higher than the earth around it and three feet in diameter. On the outer right, tangent to the moat of earth, a moat of water is dug out, three inches lower than the earth around it. The water must be produced from any enclosed body (lakes, ponds, et cetera). Then, the left forearm of the practitioner must be used to donate blood. The practitioner's blood acts as a catalyst for this ritual, starting the conversion of magic. The crown of leaves must be coated in the practitioner's blood._

_The words, usually so important in magical practices, are insignificant in this ritual. The practitioner, with the crown resting on top of his or her head, specked with blood, must express their desire to fulfill the ritual in whatever their native language might be – word choice is up to them._

_In comparison to most rituals, the sacrifices of this ritual are tame. For example, The Ritual of Physical Potential (for more information, turn to page 376)…_

The ritual appealed to Harry for several reasons. For starters, it was straightforward and required things he easily had access to. In fact, it had taken Harry only three days to produce everything he would need for the ritual. Even more importantly, the ritual would improve him, if only for a short period of time. The book did not state how long the ritual's effects would last, but it had to be a decent amount of time, right?

Harry sighed. The Restricted Section had offered no mention of this particular ritual, giving him very little detail from which to act. The Restricted Section did however produce several books that helped him find the plants needed for the ritual. Harry supposed he ought to thank Professor Dumbledore for the help. The Forbidden Forest seemed to really have a ridiculous variety of plant life.

The earth had already been used to create the risen mote. Harry had dug out the circle using his wand, leaving muddy clay raised inches over the rest of the clearing. On the outer ring, Harry had deposited water gathered from the Black Lake. The crown of leaves lay next to the book, down near his knees. Everything was as it should be.

The trees overhead rustled as birds chittered away to one another, startling Harry. He was aware that his hands were shaking, but there was nothing for it. He was justified in feeling nervous, Harry knew; the problem was that fear had no place in this ritual. Still, he could only contain his nervousness.

"Alright then," Harry said aloud. It was time to pluck up the courage to try this thing. Harry remembered the orphanage and how powerless he once was. Eventually, he became a boy that no one messed with. Why? ' _I took control_ ,' Harry thought. Once he had learned of his magic, he practiced it. He did what was necessary. Lucius Malfoy's words stung like a wasp inside his head. Felix Sykes' followed – it was time that Harry took control of his ambitions.

Harry gritted his teeth as he placed the crown upon his head, moving the book from the circle and kneeling once again in the middle. Cutting his forearm should be no big deal. All he needed was a little blood, right? A minor cut was all that was necessary.

' _Nice and steady_ ,' He thought soothingly, drawing the small stubbled blade across his forearm. Small beads of blood soon began to form. Harry exhaled harshly, tossing the knife aside and using his right hand to gather the blood. The cut was even shallower than he had intended but it would have to do; he did not know if he could gather the courage to cut deeper.

Harry raised shaky fingers to the crown, staining the leaves with his blood. The leaves resting on his unguarded forehead warmed slightly as the blood soaked them. Harry rubbed his forearm as he considered his the step. His body trembled in anticipation; whether this ritual worked or went horribly wrong, his body would be left to deal with the consequences.

"I wish to improve myself," Harry said aloud, his voice cracking in his nervousness. He quickly steeled himself. "Using these leaves, this earth, this water, I wish to improve myself. My blood is my sacrifice – let theirs match mine."

The leaves began to smoke and sizzle, heat radiating from them, hotter and hotter. Harry winced as the crown lowered slightly and pressed into his ears. A sharp pain, unrelated to the feeling of burning flesh, began at his temples, drawing a sharp exhale from him. The leaves blackened and fell around him, past his eyes and ears, down his neck. Lights, sounds and colors filled his senses. Everything around him glowed with an inner light. Harry blinked rapidly, cold breath stabbing at his lungs. His brain was adjusting quickly, processing changes that Harry could not consciously determine.

 _Oh wow_.

Harry smelled the earth below him with startling sharpness, a heady, moderate smell that lulled behind the acrid aroma of ashes. Harry looked down, blinking again as he noticed his vision was blurry. Harry withdrew his glasses from the bridge of his nose, startled as his vision improved with startling clarity.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry breathed, aware of his voice starting deep within his chest, rushing out in crisp efficiency. The ritual had _worked_ , and in ways Harry had not even considered. It was obvious _now_ , of course; the brain was the center of all activity in the body. Improving the brain's performance would naturally boost his senses as well. Harry was aware of the dirt underneath his thumbnail now, as well as the beating heart merrily drumming inside his chest. He stood quickly, looking around him and _seeing,_ more now than at any other time in his life.

"I love magic," Harry grinned. He gathered his things in a state of euphoria, reveling in the smooth leather book in his left hand and the wand in his right. With a flick of his wrist, the dirt smoothed out, leaving the clearing as it was before Harry began his ritual.

Harry never noticed the red eyes that had looked on from an outcropping of trees. A soft noise of laughter broke the silence of the night.

* * *

"I did not realize you were so good on a broom, Harry," Cedric beamed, setting the school broom back into its place in the shed. It was Saturday morning and the sun was approaching the top of the sky. Harry grinned, ducking his head as he set his broom down.

"Thanks, Ced. I got a bit of practice at Draco's this summer," He lied.

"A bit?" Cedric questioned, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "You look like you've been flying all your life! I've never seen anybody so quick to the snitch before!"

Cedric had come to Harry at breakfast this morning to ask if he wanted to go flying and Harry had readily agreed; the ritual's effects were still going strong as they had the night before and he had been eager to see how much it improved flying. The first years had had a flying lesson with Madam Hooch the previous weekend, but they did little more than hovering in place. Neville Longbottom had broken his wrist. With the boy sobbing, Madam Hooch had cancelled the rest of the lesson.

And boy, what a _rush_ flying was! The sky was bright with a cool breeze whipping at his face, the golden glint of the snitch, a prime target for his focus. Soon, Harry found himself weaving, spiraling through the air with a grin on his face.

"I just try to have fun, Cedric," Harry smiled. "I guess I have some talent at flying, then?"

Cedric snorted, shaking Harry as they walked. "More talent than any kid at this school, I'd wager. You could play professional Quidditch if you wanted, I'd bet!"

Harry laughed, trying to shake off the nagging feeling that he had an unfair advantage over Cedric. His eyesight was keen, his senses finely tuned, his body coordinating with his mind to a ridiculous degree. In the end, though, the ritual he had practiced the previous night was open to anyone; if they simply used everything at their disposal, there was nothing holding them back.

"I think it's a bit early to be deciding a career," Harry replied dryly. "Besides, I don't even play Quidditch yet. I think getting a few games under my belt would help that 'going professional' idea."

Cedric shrugged. "You should play then! I've played against Higgs, the Slytherin seeker before and trust me, you're better."

"Well of course I am," Harry boasted, a teasing smile forming. "I'd wager that I'm better than you, too."

Cedric shoved him, laughing merrily. "You wish, Potter!"

Harry recovered with a smile, falling back into step with Cedric. He still wanted to learn to fly without a broom, of course, but that would have to wait; the sheer success of his first ritual left Harry contemplating others. In fact, there was one he had skimmed over that promoted physical and muscular growth that he was itching to perform. Even better, the results would be permanent!

The two boys walked back to the castle for lunch, enjoying each other's company. Cedric truly was a good guy, in Harry's opinion. He had never met anyone like him. Draco and most of the other Slytherins looked down their noses at those weaker than them, but Cedric liked everybody. It was unheard of; no one could like everybody. But despite that, Harry was still at a loss when he contemplated why Cedric hung around him so much. He enjoyed it, sure, but the older boy had so many other friends. If he did not know Cedric's straightforward nature, he would be suspicious.

Upon entering the Great Hall, the wonderful scent of a Hogwarts lunch filled their senses. The smells were fascinating to Harry, who had encountered the same phenomenon at breakfast. Usually, the aroma of multiple foods mixed into one combined smell. For Harry and his currently enhanced mental functioning, the redolence of the food was not singular; he could smell the different meats individually, the cheeses…there was even an onion broth that was detectable. Harry's stomach growled in anticipation.

"Let's go to the Slytherin table," Harry urged. Cedric nodded, following the younger boy.

"Have fun?" Draco replied drolly as the two sat down across from him. He had a book opened to the right of his plate, filled with chicken. Harry reached quickly across, nicking a chicken leg.

"Thanks," He said, grinning at the indignant look on his classmate's face.

"We had a great time," intervened Cedric. "Harry here should be playing Quidditch."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Really?

Cedric nodded emphatically. "The kid's a natural on a broom. It's really amazing."

Harry ignored them, instead focusing on the brilliance of his turkey sandwich. He had filled up a bowl of that onion broth to accompany it, and dipping the sandwich into the soup was a _spectacular_ idea, on first taste.

"Father?" Draco questioned, snapping Harry out of his reverie. Turning around, Draco was right; Lucius Malfoy was walking through the doors of the Great Hall, up to the Head Table.

"What is he doing here? I assumed that he would inform me if he was coming to visit," Draco continued a bit petulantly.

The answer made itself known in Harry's mind. "I assume he is here to question Professor Quirrell on behalf of the Board of Governors," He said, watching as Lucius moved from talking to the Headmaster to shaking hands with Professor Snape. "Remember the letter, Draco? Why else would he be here?"

"You could ask him yourselves," Cedric pointed out. Indeed, Lucius was now making his way towards them, his shiny cane clicking on the tiled floor. Harry swallowed the last bit of his sandwich as Lucius' hand clasped his shoulder.

"Harry," He greeted with a nod, turning to Cedric. "And Mr. Diggory – lovely to see you again. How are your studies progressing?"

"Very well, sir; thanks," Cedric smiled. He then turned his attention to Harry. "I assume you guys would like a bit of privacy; I'll head back to the Hufflepuff table. Great flying with you today, Harry."

With a pat on the back, Cedric left. Harry shook his head fondly; how that boy was able to walk away from a potentially interesting conversation just for someone else's sake, he would never know.

"Greetings, Father," Draco nodded. "I had no idea that you would be here today."

Lucius nodded gravely. "The Board of Governors has sent me to interview Hogwarts' new Defense professor; we would like to make sure everything checks out. I'm sure meeting with Professor Quirrel will be a pleasure."

Lucius finished his statement by looking at Harry. ' _Message received, Lucius_ ,' Harry thought slyly.

"And how are your studies going, Harry? Learning quickly, I hope?" Lucius added, the man's grey eyes sharpening.

"Yes sir," said Harry softly. "I actually learned a bit about sacrifices and their place in magic yesterday."

A pleased glint entered Lucius' eyes as a smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth. "That is fantastic to hear, Harry. I assume such knowledge was not over your head?"

Harry tapped his temple. "The mind is a spectacular thing, sir," He said graciously.

Lucius' smirk widened. "Truly. I apologize for cutting such a pleasant conversation short, but I have duties to fulfill. Draco, my son, I shall find you before I leave. I would love to hear about your first few weeks at school."

Draco nodded, a soft smile forming. "Yes sir. I look forward to it."

Lucius bowed his head. "Until then," He said. Without a backward glance, Lucius retreated from the hall.

Draco still had a smile on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a puzzled frown. "In all of that," He said, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "I feel like I missed something. Care to explain, Harry?"

Harry snorted into his onion broth, shaking his head in amusement.

"Later, Draco," He grinned.

* * *

"How are you, old friend?" Lucius grinned, crossing his legs as he nursed a cup of tea. Severus Snape had invited him to his living quarters for a cup while Lucius waited for his…appointment.

Severus Snape's quarters were much like their owner: dark, organized, and stiff. The pair were currently enjoying a pot of tea from the Hogwarts kitchens and sitting at Severus' round dining table. Severus sat opposite his visitor.

"Very little, regretfully," Severus scoffed. "The brats grow more incompetent by the year and I doubt that will ever change. I've gotten to the point that I refuse to grade papers that cannot hold my interest; you would think that a 'Dreadful' would motivate them."

Lucius nodded in sympathy. "I hope Draco has been no trouble for you? I plan to speak to him later, and I shall address his schooling if need be."

Severus waved him off. "Draco has been…a pleasure," He sneered. "The boy has been acceptable in my class. I cannot truly assess his practical prowess in potions only three weeks into the school year, but he at least knows to read ahead."

Lucius smiled. "That is good to hear. But what about Potter?"

Severus' black eyes chilled. "What about him?"

"Has he been as acceptable as Draco?" Lucius inquired after a sip of tea. "I have been mentoring the boy in a sense; I hope he has not caused trouble?"

Severus paused, dislike clouding his features. "I hated his father, Lucius. James Potter – "

"Was an idiot," Lucius finished. "I'm well aware, Severus."

"It was more than that," Severus snapped. "The man and his merry band of misfits singled me out from the first day at Hogwarts. Every time I look Harry Potter in the face, I see that thrice damned man. And yet, the boy is as far away from the father as possible. He is always ready for class and has not caused any trouble."

"Did you know that the boy was raised in an orphanage?" Lucius questioned.

Severus' eyes snapped to the other man, looking for any trace of a lie. "I was led to believe that the boy would be raised by his Aunt and Uncle," Severus began.

"Good lord, the boy has an Aunt and Uncle? I never knew," Lucius proclaimed, his eyebrows raising.

"On his mother's side – Muggles," Severus conceded as Lucius sneered. "But on the night of Our Lord's fall, the Gamekeeper Hagrid picked the boy up from his home. The plan was to leave him with his Aunt and Uncle; I do not know what changed that original plan."

Severus sighed, setting down his own cup of tea in favor of rubbing his face. "Not that I do not enjoy your company, Lucius, but what is the real reason as to why you are here?"

Lucius smirked, quirking his head. "Harry has informed me that Quirinus Quirrell is a shady fellow. I plan to interrogate him to see if there is any truth to the boy's words. It would not do, after all, for the Board of Governors to leave an incompetent instructor in place."

Severus grunted. "Quirrell is a blubbering idiot. I must reluctantly agree with Potter, though; there is something more to him than being just a shuddering, stuttering mess. I do not trust him either. You'll share your discoveries with me, I hope?"

Lucius nodded graciously. "My dear friend, why would I withhold information from the only man I trust in Hogwarts? I am interrogating Quirinus Quirrell for more than just a way to soothe Harry's suspicions; is there anything that might make the man more suspicious?"

"There is an item being guarded within this school," Severus admitted softly. "I am not in a position to disclose the name of this item, but would certainly be coveted by many if they knew it was here. Quirrell knows what this item is as well. There is…reason to believe that the man desires this object for his own personal gain. It is something that I am disinclined to allow to happen."

Lucius nodded in understanding, setting his cup of tea on the table and smoothing his silky robes. "Dumbledore is in on hiding this object, no doubt. The tea was lovely, Severus; Narcissa insists that you must visit for dinner sometime."

Severus inclined his head. "I shall endeavor to do so," He said. "Unfortunately, the superfluous drama of teenagers takes up most of my free time."

Lucius laughed, standing with a flourish. "Severus, let the teenagers be someone else's responsibility every now and then."

"No one else can do the job to my satisfaction," Severus quipped, rising to join his friend near the door.

Lucius smiled fondly. "Indeed," He said. "But I must be off; there is an interesting Defense professor to meet."

"Interesting," Severus muttered. "Whatever else there is to the man will certainly not be interesting."

"We shall see," Lucius acknowledged. Gripping his cane, he set off to find the Defense professor.

* * *

"Mi-Mister Malfoy," Professor Quirrell said jerkily, his fingers quivering as he opened the door. "Please d-do c-c-come in."

Lucius arched an eyebrow. Severus and Harry both had warned him that the man stuttered, but this was ridiculous. How was such a pathetic man supposed to teach _Defense_?

He entered swiftly and looked around the man's quarters. There was very little in the room that could be described as personal. Brown, wooden furniture furnished the living space and a small, beige couch sat near a coffee table. The man had a small bookcase, but from Lucius' examination, there were no books of interest.

Professor Quirrell walked by him, tripping on the edge of his rug with a squeak. Was the man nervous? Or was this truly the man's nature? Either way, Lucius was quickly losing patience.

"I am here, Quirrell, because I have received word that you are failing in your duties to this school," Lucius drawled. Quirinus Quirrell looked at him with wide eyes. "And I must say that I am less than impressed by your current behavior."

He surveyed the man quickly. Quirrell truly was a pathetic sight. The man's already pale skin had a sickly pallor to it and dark circles lined cloudy blue eyes. The man wore black robes and black boots with a ridiculous turban wrapped upon his head.

"I-I-I ap-apologize Mr. M-Malfoy," The man stuttered. "I-I can p-promise you that I-I-I am much m-more impressive in c-c-class."

Lucius sneered. "I truly doubt that. Honestly, I am considering firing you right here. The usual process involves that I report back to the other Governors, but for such a _pathetic_ excuse for a teacher, I believe I can do without those rules."

Quirrell turned from him sharply, his hands coming up to clasp his face. The man trembled, and Lucius felt his lip curl.

"If you think I feel any pity for you – "

" _Kneel_."

Lucius started, his heart jumping into his throat. His left forearm had stung slightly, adding to his startlement, but hearing that voice right _now_ was _impossi_ -.

" _I will not ask again, Lucius_."

Lucius quickly complied, falling to his knees and grasping his left forearm. Lucius' cane clanged as it hit the floor, bouncing a few feet away. Quirinus Quirrell still had his back to him, but the man had gone very still. The hard surface underneath his knees was already causing discomfort.

But then, Quirinus Quirrell turned around. Lucius Malfoy bit back a scream.

The man was still the same, but those _eyes_ , that _voice_ – Lord Voldemort, his Lord, stood before him once again.

"My – My Lord," Lucius bowed, his palms resting on the cool tile floor.

"Who stutters now, my slippery friend?" Lord Voldemort inquired, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I-"

"You will do well to keep silent, Lucius," Lord Voldemort snarled. "You have much to answer for. Your actions these past eleven years lead me to believe that I am not as much 'your Lord' as you would wish me to believe."

Lord Voldemort circled him, but Lucius never looked up. The amount of fear he was experiencing prevented him from moving.

"You will be punished," Lord Voldemort softly stated, caressing the back of Lucius' neck. "But now is not the time for such wasteful actions. For your own sake, Lucius, I hope you answer this next question correctly – are you still in possession of my diary?"

Lucius nodded vigorously, relief flooding his muscles. "Yes, my Lord. Your diary is locked securely in Malfoy Manor under the most powerful wards I am capable of creating."

"I am pleased," Lord Voldemort stated, patting him on the head mockingly. The man moved away from him, to the spot where he had revealed himself.

"Are you willing to prove yourself, Lucius?" Lord Voldemort softly questioned, his head tilting to the side. "Are you willing to show your faithfulness? I am in need of servants – competent servants. Do you fit this criteria, Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius assured him. "There are none as faithful as I."

Lord Voldemort smiled – a twisted, sadistic smile. "Prove it, Lucius. Crawl to your Lord and kiss His feet."

Lucius swallowed, his wide eyes never leaving his Lord's countenance. The man bared his teeth, his red eyes narrowing in unforgiveness.

"This is not the time for pride, my friend," Voldemort snarled. "You will do as I say or you will die; there is no middle ground."

Lucius bowed his head, crawling on hands and knees to Voldemort's side. This was part of the game, he tried to assure himself. Do this one…humiliating act, and he and his family would be safe. Lucius reached for the man's boots, only to have them ripped from his grip.

Lord Voldemort laughed harshly, having no pity for his kneeling servant. "Recall what I said, Lucius," Lord Voldemort purred. "I said, 'kiss your Lord's _feet_.'"

In an instant, the boots that had adorned his Lord's feet disappeared, leaving naked, hairy feet in their place. Lucius bit back the urge to give in to tears. "Your pride matters little in my presence," Lord Voldemort continued to taunt from above him. "Show me some loyalty; show me that you still value the old ways."

Hesitantly, Lucius did as he was told. He clasped the bare ankles, moist with sweat, into his hands. With a shuddering breath, he lowered himself further into a prone position, trying and failing not to notice the acrid smell of bare feet. Lucius pressed his lips to the top of each foot, his nose brushing the ankles of each. The wiry hair tickled his bare lip and nostrils, sickening him further. Lord Voldemort looked on above him with a pleased smirk adorning his face. If anyone else had demanded as much from him, Lucius would have killed them. However, Lord Voldemort would accept nothing less. Lucius raised up, thankful that this act was finished, but a bare foot lashed out, smashing into his nose.

Lucius howled and he brought his hands up to his broken nose, blood flowing freely from it. Lord Voldemort laughed cruelly once more. "Red is such a dashing color on you, Lucius," He smirked. "You should wear it more often."

A hand grasped the back of his robes and roughly pulled him into a standing position. Lucius wavered, still holding his shattered nose, tears now starting to fall. Voldemort leered at him in his humiliation. When the man withdrew his wand, Lucius flinched violently.

"Ah-ah," Voldemort taunted. "I was only going to fix your nose, my friend. Of course, if you feel that such mercy is unwarranted…"

"Pleab," Lucius moaned through the flow of blood, some entering his mouth and staining his teeth.

Lord Voldemort smirked once more and violently tapped Lucius' nose with his wand. " _Episkey_."

Bones snapped back together, cartilage repaired itself, and blood ceased to flow. Lucius tried to take a calming breath, but the damage to his pride and ego were complete; Lord Voldemort owned him.

"Kneel once more, Lucius. I rather enjoy the picture you present when at my feet."

Lucius lowered himself to wobbly knees, blood marring his features and originally pristine robes. Voldemort conjured a throne to sit on.

"Now, to business," Voldemort began. "I am pleased that you are here, Lucius. I have heard many tales of your exploits these past few years." Voldemort crossed his leg over his knee, his bare feet continuing to taunt Lucius. "Hosting Harry Potter at your home and the boy still lives?"

Lucius started. "My Lord, I believe that we have a kindred spirit in the boy. He seems prone to the Dark Arts; in fact, I believe he has practiced a ritual if his words this afternoon are true."

"The boy has," Voldemort interrupted. "I was watching. Nothing happens without my notice, Lucius. Luckily for you, I tend to agree with your assessment; the boy will do me more good as a Death Eater than dead. I have had more than enough time to reminisce on my mistakes, Lucius, and the boy was never in any situation to consciously defy me. He was, as I feel, a victim of circumstance."

Lucius bowed his head, relieved with his Lord's logic. Lord Voldemort's opinion was law and after such a humiliating experience, it would not do to be against Voldemort's law. Besides, Dark Wizards were so few to begin with and a boy as powerful as Harry Potter deserved a chance to live up to their potential.

"You correspond with the boy?" Voldemort stated, not really asking at all.

Lucius nodded. "Yes, my Lord. We exchange letters and my son is friends with him. I have tried to get the boy interested in the Dark Arts and it seems that my efforts are working."

"Continue them," Lord Voldemort proclaimed.

"My Lord, if I may?" Receiving a nod, Lucius continued. "I spoke with the boy this summer. The boy grew up in an orphanage, despite having relatives. Harry Potter hated that orphanage and seems to have developed a healthy dislike for Muggles as well."

Lord Voldemort raised his eyebrows, so high that they disappeared into the turban. "That is interesting, Lucius. You have pleased me. Continue as you have, but I expect regular updates. In fact, send me a copy of your correspondence with the boy."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius whispered.

"To other matters," Lord Voldemort stated, flippantly raising a hand. "Quirinus Quirrell came to me one day in a forest in Albania. The man desired power and willingly lent me his body." Lord Voldemort sneered. "I now share a body with a coward, one who has changed his mind and now fights my presence. He cannot defeat me, of course, but I lack the power in my present state to eliminate him. With the man fighting me, I cannot gather strength; I shall have to find a new host soon."

Lucius felt a shiver run down his spine. "If you require a servant, I offer you all that I am, my Lord – including my body."

Lord Voldemort laughed. "No, Lucius," He said. "I need to remain in Hogwarts. There is an item here that I would like to possess. Unfortunately, it is heavily guarded by Dumbledore and his allies."

"Severus Snape mentioned such an object earlier," Lucius responded, trying to ignore the bruising his knees were currently experiencing. "He believed that Quirinus Quirrell wanted it for his own gain."

Lord Voldemort smirked, examining his fingernails as Lucius fidgeted. "Severus was always a sly one," He said, His eyes snapping to Lucius. "Can we trust ol' Severus? Or has he forever turned away from me?"

"I believe that you can trust him, my Lord," Lucius said. "He is a difficult man to understand, but I know he still practices the Dark Arts in his spare time. The man cares for my son and he knows where our family's loyalties lie."

"With me," Lord Voldemort finished. "I believe you may stand now, Lucius."

Lucius uttered a soft sigh, using his knee to prop himself back up.

"You have pleased your Lord, Lucius," Voldemort said softly, standing to caress the side of Lucius' face. "You have faced your punishment with meekness. Lord Voldemort never forgives, but he does not forget, either. Continue to prove yourself, for you are not the only follower awaiting punishment."

An arm wrapped harshly around Lucius' wrist, drawing the sleeve back in a swift motion.

"But never forget who you belong to, Lucius," Voldemort continued. "Or what you believe in. A storm is brewing out there, my friend. It is time for every man, woman, and child to choose their side."

Lord Voldemort stepped back, a grin marring his features.

"Many believe that my reign is over," Voldemort whispered. "But it has only just begun."


	10. What Better Way?

_Dear Harry,_

_I must apologize for not meeting with you before I left; indeed, I departed from Hogwarts without meeting Draco. Urgent matters of my own discrepancy were in need of attention, but that matters little in the grand scheme of things. Professor Quirrell and I had a somewhat pleasant chat in his office over a cup of tea. The man stutters something fierce, yes, and he seems barely competent as an instructor, but I was not able to uncover any nefarious plans, torture chambers, or indeed anything abnormal at all. It seems our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is in fact a genial soul. I do hope this soothes your worries._

_Speaking of Dark Arts…my, my, Harry – if your words were true, I am indeed proud of you. It is hard to put fear and prejudice aside to see things as they really are. Ritualism is a branch of magic that lay things out in simple terms: supply the items listed in order to earn the reward. Rituals do not change, they do not compel – they simply are. Many witches and wizards point to the power of rituals and claim that it must be evil. For that reason, they list it as Dark. But Harry, how can something so simple be considered evil? The choice to follow through on a ritual is solely in the hands of the witch or wizard. They alone decide if the sacrifices of a ritual are "too much." Once again, I am overjoyed that you realize this distinction. With all of that said, might I inquire as to which ritual you chose to practice? I must admit that I am quite curious and wish to be of aid if you decide to continue your journey._

_Once again, I must apologize as I am forced to end our correspondence short; please relay my regrets to Draco and assure him that I shall meet with him soon. As for you, Harry, continue to study hard, both with coursework and independent studies; I will be here if you require my services._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Harry lowered the letter, trying hard not to scowl. Just because Lucius had not discovered anything wrong with Quirrell did not mean that he was wrong; indeed, if anything, the fact that Lucius was not able to discover anything heightened Harry's suspicions.

"Is that from Father?" Draco questioned frankly. It was a good thing that Lucius had offered his son an apology in the letter, Harry thought. Draco had not taken being stood up by his own father very well. The boy had ranted and raved all night about it in the Common Room, sending most of the Slytherins to their dorms.

"Yep," Harry affirmed. "He says he is sorry and that urgent matters needed attending."

"Give me that," Draco snapped, snatching at the letter in Harry's hand. "If he believes anything is more urgent than me, he's sadly mistaken," Draco muttered.

"Bloody hell, Draco!" Harry exclaimed, jerking the letter out of the boy's grasp. "This letter was sent to me, you know!"

"Did daddy hurt your feelings, Draco?" Grinned Theo from across the table.

The boys were all in the library to write an essay for Professor McGonagall's class. The essay greatly annoyed Harry because he could already "Transfigure inanimate objects to include designs" well enough on his own, thank you very much. Wandlessly, as well.

' _Stupid class_ ,' Harry shook his head, looking down balefully at the book lying on the table.

"Shut it Theo," Draco growled. "At least I have a father who does more than yell at me."

Theo smirked at the boy, but said nothing else. Draco looked back expectantly at Harry, silently demanding the letter.

Harry sighed. It was better to avoid getting Draco upset if only for his own sake. Harry grabbed his wand and split the letter in two. "Here," He said holding out part of the letter to Draco. "This is the part that concerns you."

"What else would he have to say?" Draco asked, not really expecting an answer if the way he was scouring his portion of the letter was any indication. Harry shrugged.

"He was telling me about his meeting with Quirrell," said Harry. "He basically said that I was wrong and that Quirrell really is the stuttering idiot that he acts like."

Draco looked up, staring at him. Blaise and Theo were also looking at him, abandoning their own studies. "If father said that, then he's right," Draco said. "Quirrell is an idiot; I don't know why you think otherwise."

Harry scoffed. "Because no one acts like that in reality," He argued. "Besides, I already told you why I am wary of him. The man is _weird_. Your father is wrong, I think."

"Not possible," Draco interrupted. "He would not be wrong about something like that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "He made a mistake, then."

"He would not make one this big," Draco defended insistently. Blaise and Theo looked at each other in amusement across the table.

"You cannot know that for sure, Draco."

"Of course I can; I'm his son."

"Alright, boys," Theo snickered. "Let's settle down before we draw heads, okay?"

"Mr. Malfoy can make mistakes, Draco," Blaise added, his attention long since removed from his book. "It's not like he's perfect or anything."

"He's close enough to," Draco sneered back at him.

"Your father's a good man, we get it – but back to the thing at hand," Harry stated wearily. "I don't trust Quirrell. What should I do about it?"

"Trail him," Blaise supplied. "If you can get him alone, he will have no one to play that silly role for."

Draco scoffed. "Or you could take my father's word for it like a reasonable person."

"Not happening," Harry stated dryly. "Besides, following him sounds fun. It would give me a chance to make my own judgment, and that is always the better option, isn't it?"

Theo nodded in agreement. "When are you going to do it?" He eagerly inquired.

Harry shrugged, tapping his quill rapidly against the side of the table. "Whenever, I guess. Any time he starts acting weird."

"Oh, well there's your problem, Harry," Theo scolded, waving his quill in mock disappointment. "The man is always weird."

* * *

Harry shut the curtains around his bed, taking a minute to stretch luxuriously on the downy covers. After grinding his way through an essay for Snape, on top of finishing that blasted essay for McGonagall – he had earned this moment of relaxation, thank you. The one thing he had brought with him into the curtained bed, however, was _Ritualism: Borne of Sacrifice, Treasured for Eternity_. The effects of his previous ritual had worn off several days ago, leaving him itching to try another, especially since he was back to wearing his glasses. He had woken up this morning to his previous poor eyesight. Harry flipped open his book, trying to find something that might help fix his eyesight permanently.

There were a few that might work. There was a ritual to change the shape of facial features and if he recalled correctly, poor eyesight was caused from the eye being misshapen. Still, Harry grimaced, that did not seem to be an ideal fix.

Smell enhanced sight…intriguing, but no. If Harry was reading that correctly, the Ritual of Serpentine Senses would bolster his eyesight by adding smell to his sense of sight, producing unique colors and…things. Perhaps it would even help with depth perception, Harry thought, but it would not actually fix his eyesight. A perfect fix, however, was on the next page.

_The Ritual of Physical Potential_

_The Ritual of Physical Potential unlocks the unachieved potential of a participant's body, curing physical ailments as well as assuring the participant's full physical growth. Height, muscular strength, sight, hearing, smell, and skeletal strength are all optimized to the full potential of an individual. However, the "potential" of the participant decreases as they age past adolescence. For optimal results, the participant of this ritual should neither be of magical age nor inheritance. The results of this ritual are permanent, and therefore the sacrifice of this ritual is costly._

_The ritual requires four significant sacrifices, one at each pinnacle of a Delta. Each of these sacrifices which will be named and described below signifies a different physical attribute that the practitioner seeks. The Delta is a magically strong symbol in ritualism, possessing both three vertices and three sides, both increasing the flow of magical energy. In this ritual, the Delta should be drawn on soil with one of the sacrifices (again, they shall be named below) at a distance of three by three feet for each side. Three lines from each vertex shall then be drawn to form another, smaller Delta in which the practitioner shall kneel. This Delta's sides shall be three feet in length._

_The power in this ritual comes from its sacrifices. The pair of Deltas help to create a steady flow of magical power from its sacrifices to the practitioner. These sacrifices all come from magical creatures and each represent a physical trait that will be transferred to the practitioner to unlock their own potential. First, the venom of a Runespoor shall take up the lower-left vertex of the larger Delta. For a serpent to inject its venom into its prey, the serpent must possess physical agility and durability. In this ritual, the Runespoor's venom works to enhance the agility and skeletal structure of the practitioner._

_The next sacrifice, with which the Deltas and lines connecting them shall be drawn, is the detached horn of a Unicorn._

Harry felt his eyes go wide. The horn of a fucking Unicorn? How was he supposed to catch one, let alone dehorn it? By the way, wasn't that sacrilege? Harry knew the blood of a unicorn was cursed – was the horn cursed as well? Harry felt morally that he was probably missing out a bit on the "It's a Unicorn! Don't hurt it!" objection, but the Unicorn would still live, right? He would not be killing it, necessarily. And if the Unicorn was going to live, were his own desires important enough to sacrifice that Unicorn's horn?

Harry shook his head and continued reading:

_The horn of the Unicorn represents, not only in this ritual but most magical practices, strength, speed, and purity. In this ritual, the horn largely is involved in the "optimization" of physical traits and enhanced speed. Sight, hearing, smell, and touch are all affected and altered in this ritual through the magic from the horn of the Unicorn._

_The most severe sacrifice of this ritual is the life of a centaur. The centaur must be tied down on the pinnacle of the Delta to be sacrificed as magic flows from it. This sacrifice has been largely experimented with in the past. Several magical creatures could be substituted for the life of a centaur, but as of the release of this book, no alternatives have been found to the sacrificing of a life._

Harry blinked. He read that particular passage a second time. ' _Well that is certainly a step up_ ,' He thought. Killing did not necessarily put him off, but to do so for such selfish reasons tickled the sides of his morality.

Harry recalled in a flash the letter he had received from Lucius earlier and fought the urge to roll his eyes. ' _That bastard's been pushing me to try something like this_ ,' Harry realized. Of all the underhanded things to do – and this was nothing new, either. The man had acted like this since first meeting him.

Harry found himself smiling at the irony. The thing was that Harry needed no push. He had realized after the first ritual that this type of magic was too interesting to leave alone. He could handle it, Harry was sure, but this ritual's sacrifices…was he ready to _kill_ for it?

But then again, if this ritual did what it said it would – if this ritual made sure he would grow taller, stronger, faster, _better_ than everyone around him – why would he discount it so quickly? What price was one life for the plans he held?

There was no one to discuss this with, either. Draco would say to do it, obviously, but Harry was not sure if Draco himself would willingly do it. He did not want Lucius to know that he had enacted a ritual of this caliber. Snape, maybe? Lucius had mentioned him several times as trustworthy and even from Harry's own perspective the Potions Professor seemed fair. The question, though, was if the man would rat him out to Professor Dumbledore. Harry knew without a doubt that Dumbledore would highly disapprove.

' _I'm getting ahead of myself_ ,' Harry thought with a sigh, leaning back into the pillows to contemplate in comfort. ' _Can I in good conscious slay a centaur to ensure my own growth_?'

' _I don't know_ ,' Harry realized. Sure, he had had a hand in killing that woman to enact revenge on Mike, but that was different. He did that for revenge. He did that from hatred. He had no hate for centaurs. He had no feeling of revenge against them. If Harry were to undergo this ritual, he would be killing for his own personal gain. Harry was not sure he was ready for that, even if the attributes he would inherit were so alluring.

' _Still_ ,' Harry paused, sighing wistfully. 'The fact that I have thought this long on the subject proves that I'm not completely opposed to it. Who would turn down an opportunity to improve? Who would be so stupid? Harry cocked his head and continued reading:

_The centaur represents the physical traits of strength, height, and power. In this ritual, the centaur's life bolsters that of the practitioner, increasing their durability while enhancing height and strength. The fourth sacrifice, the blood of the practitioner, must coat (or in the case of the Runespoor's venom, mix) the physical sacrifices and the blood must be removed from the body with the horn of the unicorn. The practitioner should slice each of their palms…_

' _That's enough of that,'_ Harry thought. Reading on at this point was doing him no good. Was he willing to undergo this ritual? Possibly. However, he needed help if he wanted to do it. Where would he get a unicorn horn? How was he to restrain a centaur?

' _I'll figure it out tomorrow_ ,' Harry decided, ripping the curtains open to head to dinner. ' _But damn, wouldn't growing taller and stronger than everybody be awesome?_ '

* * *

"Have you contacted our mutual friend, Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And what did he have to say, might I ask?"

Lucius swallowed delicately. He was once again kneeling on the marbled floor of his Lord's quarters, present to present his updated report. Lord Voldemort once again sat in front of him on his conjured, black throne. The only problem was…what update was there?

"My Lord," Lucius began. "Severus is a severely guarded man. He is disinterested in talking about himself and his accomplishments. Asking outright for his loyalties would result in insults and ridicule – "

"Neither of which you are willing to endure, I'm well aware, Lucius," Voldemort waved his hand. "I did not ask for excuses. I asked what he had to say."

Lucius ground his teeth for a moment. "Severus remained as vague as possible. However, he did hint at continued practice of the Dark Arts as well as experimentation with his darker potions. From what I can decipher, he has not turned against you. He sought safety with Dumbledore like a coward, yes, but he does not necessarily follow the man."

Voldemort hummed, nodding in contemplation. It is time to test him then, Voldemort decided. "However, I cannot have him betraying my location nor my existence to Dumbledore."

Voldemort rose to his feet and began to pace, something Lucius had rarely seen him do. When his Lord paced…things happened. Plans formed quickly. A pacing Voldemort was never good news for his opponents.

Voldemort reached out to softly touch the leathery top of a chair by the sitting area, his grip tightening sharply as red eyes snapped to Lucius.

"I recall you saying that Severus is suspicious of Quirrell," Voldemort stated, his voice steady and assured. Lucius only nodded in reply. A pleased grin marred Quirrell's features as Voldemort's canines revealed themselves.

"Then what better way is there to test a follower than in person?" Voldemort questioned in a whisper. "I have a job for you, Lucius," Voldemort continued with a laugh, patting the back of the chair merrily. "I need you to cause a distraction for the teachers somewhere in the castle during dinner. This diversion needs to be done in a manner that allows Severus to suspect me."

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius nodded deeply. "Whatever you wish."

Voldemort smiled predatorily. "Here's what you will do…"

* * *

"Pass the potatoes, Harry," Blaise said, holding out a fork to point to the dish being discussed. Harry swallowed his mouthful of chicken before reaching over to grab the plate, handing it to the boy.

"Hey, I wanted that!" Cedric whined playfully from Harry's side, nudging him in the ribs. Draco sat on the other side, whole fully distracted by his own plate of delicacies. Daphne Greengrass was opposite him, talking cheerfully with Theo. The boy was making wild gestures with his dining utensils, making him look a lot like an idiot, Harry thought.

"Then go get it, Ced," Harry retorted, smirking at the boy. Cedric had sat with his year mates for a while before crossing over to the Slytherin table to sit with him. Harry thought it was a little bizarre how often Cedric sat with them, but he enjoyed his company nonetheless.

"So what is being a Hufflepuff like?" Greengrass questioned, turning from Theo as the boy had a knife sticking out from his lips.

Cedric shrugged, a pleasant smile on his face. "There's a lot of yellow everywhere," He joked. "But, you know, we go to class and stuff, eat here like the rest of the students. What did you expect, exactly?"

Greengrass tilted her head. "I figured there was a bit more to you lot than meets the eye. Is that true?"

Cedric grinned. "Well, I'm wearing robes so I hope there's a bit more of me than 'meets the eye.'"

The boys all laughed and Daphne blushed as the doors to the Great Hall burst open, admitting a flustered Argus Filch, the man's mangy cat trailing behind him.

"There's some big bloody spiders down in the dungeons!" Filch exclaimed harshly. "The blasted vermin almost bit me!"

Harry swiveled his head from the caretaker to look at the professors. Dumbledore was beginning to rise, his face quickly losing its cheerfulness. Snape's gaze had snapped to Quirrell. The Defense Professor was shiftily looking around the Great Hall, shaking even more than usual.

"Prefects," Dumbledore's voice commanded, splitting through the growing whispers around them. "Please lead your Houses to the designated security rooms as the Professors take care of this issue. Professors, if you will all follow me, please."

The Professors all took the exit normally reserved for Professor Snape, but Harry noticed one that was not amongst them.

"Quirrell is going the wrong way," Harry pointed quickly over the crowd. Indeed, the man had shifted his way through the crowd to take the door that in no way led to the dungeons. What was interesting, however, was the fact that Professor Snape was eying the man's exit as sharply as Harry himself was.

"Follow him, then," Blaise said, repeating his earlier sentiment. Harry nodded. "Cover for me?" He questioned.

"Obviously, Potter," Theo quipped. "Go!"

Harry turned without a backwards glance. After a few steps, however, he noticed he was not alone.

"I guess you two are coming as well?" Harry grinned.

Cedric nodded. "Looks like fun," He murmured, shifting himself deftly through the growing crowd of people.

Harry shifted his gaze to Draco. The boy had his eyebrows raised, a small smirk on his face.

"Do you think I'd miss the chance to say I told you so?" Draco said superiorly. "Besides, I am not one to sit around and wait for others."

Harry let out a small laugh as he rolled his eyes. "Of course, Sir Draco," Harry murmured. "I would never leave you out of my plans."

Cedric shoved Harry's shoulder, drawing his attention. "Let's go," Cedric urged. "Before we lose him."

The three boys dodged the Ravenclaw table, steering themselves to the door Professor Quirrell had exited from. Once they reached the hall, only the hem of Quirrell's robes were visible as the man hurriedly turned a corner.

"He's heading for the Grand Staircase," Harry cried, grabbing a fistful of robes and starting to jog after the man. "Why is he going away from the dungeons?"

Draco panted to catch up to him. "Because he's a bloody coward, Harry," Draco huffed, stumbling slightly on the hem of his own robes. "He wouldn't even know how to incapacitate a spider."

"I don't think so," Cedric whispered. "There's something weirder to it than that going on, here."

Harry peeked around the corner of the hallway. Professor Quirrell was taking stairs two at a time, the staircases still for the Defense Professor. Quirrell slowed only as he reached the third floor landing, stopping to look around. Harry stifled a gasp when the man turned; Harry's scar seared with heat, his eyes squinting from the pain. Harry ignored the whispered concerns from either side of him in favor of studying the Professor. Red eyes swept across the landing with such severity that Harry had never seen from the man.

"Look at him," Harry urged in a whisper, motioning with his hand.

"Look at who?" A voice behind him asked.

The three boys swiveled around to face another boy with red hair and a shocking amount of freckles. Harry recognized him as a classmate.

"None of your business, Weasley," Draco sneered, as Cedric frowned.

"I wasn't talking to you, Malfoy," Weasley muttered, his eyes fixing on Harry. "What are you lot doing out here, anyway?"

"We're just looking around," Cedric supplied. "How about you?"

"Nobody cares about what you are up to, Weasley," Draco intervened before the red-head could respond.

Weasley's face began to gain color. "And nobody cares what a git like you has to say," Weasley retorted.

Draco snarled. "I ought to teach you what happens when you backtalk your superiors, blood traitor – "

"Enough, Draco," Harry said softly, holding a hand out to restrain his year mate as he nodded in a placating gesture to Cedric. The fourth-year boy was looking at Draco in outrage.

"We were trailing Professor Quirrell, Weasley – "

"Ron," the boy supplied.

"Ron, then," Harry acknowledged, now trying his hardest to ignore Draco tugging at his robe sleeve. "We saw Quirrell go in the opposite direction of the rest of the professors and wanted to know what he was up to."

"The man seems a bit off his rocker," Ron snorted. "Maybe the man thought he was going the right way."

Harry smirked. "Maybe."

"And maybe a certain Professor would like a better explanation as to why his students are not in their proper places," A silky voice said from Harry's right. Professor Snape stood looking at them all, his arms folded.

"The spiders are in the dungeon, Professor," Harry intervened before Draco could say something stupid. Cedric nodded in agreement while Ron gaped at the Professor.

Professor Snape arched an eyebrow. "But according to Professor Dumbledore's instructions, you were not to go to your dorm room; instead, you were to follow your Prefects to the school's security rooms."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but halted as the Potions Professor raised his other eyebrow.

"Yes sir," Harry said. "I apologize."

"Indeed," Professor Snape drawled. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, we shall speak more on this at a later time. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory – five points from each of your Houses."

Cedric groaned as Ron sputtered indignantly. "But Professor, I – "

"Make that ten," Snape said, a not so pleasant smile adorning his face. "Would you like to make that twenty, Weasley?"

Ron's ears flushed red to match his face, but the boy shook his head.

"Off you go then," Professor Snape urged, his eyes sliding to focus on Harry. "The four of you."

Harry gritted his teeth, taking one last look at the Grand Staircase. Professor Quirrell had disappeared.

"Nice talking with you, Ron," Harry managed, nodding to the boy. "And Cedric, I guess we'll talk tomorrow."

"Sure thing," Cedric said, eyeing Professor Snape warily. With one fleeting glance, the Hufflepuff set out to rejoin his classmates.

"C'mon, Draco," Harry sighed, his hand rubbing his scalp fiercely. "Let's go find Sykes."

Professor Snape watched them leave, shooting a fleeting sneer to Weasley. As the boys all left, he softly swore. Quirrell had gotten out of sight and the mischievous brats had given the man a sizeable head start. Professor Snape swiftly moved up the flights of stairs, drawing his wand; he knew exactly where Quirrell was headed. If the man was actually after the Philosopher's Stone, even with such a large lead, Snape was confident he could stop him.

The third floor was dark. Only a few torches lit the corridor – it was not being used, after all. Severus swiftly glided down the corridor. The door that was containing Hagrid's monstrosity was at the end.

An opened door and violent arm impeded his progress, however.

The arm launched out from the doorway, wrapping itself harshly around Severus' neck. Fingernails scraped painfully at the side of his collar bone, drawing small droplets of blood and a gasp from the Potions Professor. Severus tried to raise his wand on the man, but the arm heaved him roughly backwards through the doorway, slamming him against the stone wall. Severus' head crunched into the stone, igniting black spots to swim in his vision. The door slammed shut and his old Mark seared to life.

"Hello, Severus," A voice whispered, inches away from his right ear.

For the first time in nearly ten years, Severus Snape felt terror.

* * *

"I told you that man was up to something – you saw his face!" Harry cried. Draco had been quiet since re-entering their dorm room. Instead of finding Sykes as Professor Snape had asked, the Prefect had found them. Theo and Blaise were hungry for details, so Harry had filled them in once they were back within the privacy of their dorm. Even Crabbe and Goyle were listening attentively, something Harry was surprised they were capable of doing.

Draco seemed puzzled, as if he were trying to find a scenario in which both his father and Harry could be right. The boy was scribbling on a piece of parchment and ignoring Harry's words – until now.

"So he's faking the stutter – so what," Draco spoke, looking up from his parchment. "It doesn't mean he's up to anything suspicious. Maybe he hates attention. Maybe he has social problems. I really don't care, to be honest, so if you all will excuse me, I'm going to bed."

Draco stood, and left for the restroom without a backwards glance. Harry huffed silently. He was right – he was sure of it. Theo and Blaise seemed to agree with him, but Harry still had no clue what the man was actually doing.

Quirrell was on the third floor, the one Dumbledore had said was forbidden. Was there something in that corridor? What could it possibly be?

Harry contemplated the situation as he readied himself for bed as well. He took a quick shower and bid his year mates goodnight before setting his glasses on the dresser beside his bed and wrenching the curtains open.

Harry gasped.

A silvery, white horn, bathed and shining in metallic blood rested on a black pillow in the center of his bed. A note was pierced by the horn, the silvery blood seeping in and thoroughly staining the yellowed parchment. Harry knew what this was – there could be no mistaking it. This was a unicorn horn.

' _But who would do this? Who could know?_ ' Harry panicked. He reached out with a shaky hand to retrieve the parchment. Red ink taunted his blurred vision:

_For whenever you are ready._

_Enjoy._


	11. Nothing Good on a Monday

"Silence," Professor Snape drawled, using one hand to elegantly lean on his desk. Of course, there was no reason to say such since none of the first years felt the need to irritate Professor Snape on a Monday. Harry's eyes met Professor Snape's as the wizard motioned to a desk on the left side of the room. Harry ducked his head and headed over to the desk, setting his bag onto the table. Soon after, Daphne Greengrass joined him with a small smile.

"Hey, Harry," Daphne whispered, careful not to draw Snape's attention. The girl sat her bag down next to her chair and retrieved her potion's kit.

Harry nodded swiftly to her with a small smile, keeping his eyes on Professor Snape. The man…was he limping? This was the first time he had really seen his Head of House since last week when the man had prevented him from trailing Quirrell. The man had not been limping then, so what could have caused it?

Ron Weasley grinned at him from across the room. Harry sent the boy a small smirk in return. Honestly, the boy was not that bad – though he would never say such around Draco. Apparently the Malfoys had some kind of grudge against the Weasleys; it honestly did not matter that much to Harry, but the rift did cause him some problems in talking with Ron. Harry knew that if he ever spent sizable time with the other boy, Draco would really tear into him, something he was not inclined to suffer through.

Ron, though – the boy was a bit loud, a bit crude, but he was friendly enough, Harry thought. The boy obviously wasn't that close to his Gryffindor yearmates; the Irish kid and black boy were always together and that sniveling mess Longbottom…yikes. Harry could understand where Ron was at – he either had to befriend Longbottom or force his way in between the other two Gryffindors. Instead, Ron was branching out. That took courage, and Harry was not the type to turn someone away for actually bettering themselves.

"Today, I have a…surprise for you all," Professor Snape began smoothly as everyone was seated, his voice mocking as he eyed Longbottom at the back of the class. "I would like to gauge how truly talented a select few of you are. For the rest," Professor Snape scoffed, "if you destroy this classroom, your lives may become rather…bleak."

Professor Snape was once again leaning against the sturdy desk at the front of the classroom. With one hand, the professor withdrew a vial from the depths of his robes, containing a poisonous-looking blue liquid.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?" The Professor whispered, sharp black eyes surveying the classroom. Harry looked over at Draco who sat at the desk next to him. Draco's eyebrows were tugging together, a frown on his face. ' _Huh_ ,' Harry thought. ' _Draco doesn't even know – that's new._ '

Granger – that damn prissy girl – had a fist firmly in the air and was on the verge of bouncing out of her seat. Harry nudged Daphne and pointed to the girl, rolling his eyes. Daphne quickly covered her mouth, laughter etched into the creases of her eyes.

"Alright, Granger. Always so quick to prove your worth," Snape drolly said, disparaging eyes cast down at the girl. "What is this substance and what is it used for in potion-making?"

"It is Runespoor's venom," The girl quickly stated, her curly hair bouncing as she nodded. The girl either had missed Professor Snape's slight or was just not acknowledging it. "Runespoor's venom is identified by its slight luminescence in the dark. It is obviously used as a toxin, but can be used in potions to counteract the…"

Harry had stopped listening. Instead, he was looking intently at the little vial in Professor Snape's hand. The man was looking back at him, his eyebrows slightly raised in question. Harry met his Professor's eyes and shook his head slightly.

"Why does Granger always feel she has to answer every question?" Daphne asked from beside him. "While it's funny, it's also rather annoying, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged, his mind racing. "Dunno. I reckon it's all she's good at." In truth, he could not care less about Granger. What the _fuck_ was Snape up to? Last week had certainly been an adventure – one starting with a ritual and ending with a bloodied unicorn horn. And now - on a bloody Monday, at that – this.

Was Snape behind it all? Harry recalled Lucius saying that the two men were friends. Was this a...what? A plot to turn him Dark or something? But what was Dark, anyway?

' _If the Ministry cannot regulate it, it is Dark_ ,' Harry remembered Lucius saying. Rituals fell into that category, right? So he was already practicing Dark Magic; in fact, in another of Lucius' books, he was reading up on Dark Spells as well.

' _But they haven't forced me into this_ ,' Harry thought, puzzling him even further. ' _So I really have no clue of their motive. What I do know, however, is that Snape isn't totally with Dumbledore. If he was, he would not be…_ '

' _Oh, fuck_ ,' Harry breathed, dropping his quill suddenly. ' _They_ know _. They know what I'm doing and they're…helping me?_ ' Harry's head felt weightless, as though the implications of such thoughts were waiting to hit him all at once. ' _What the hell is their motive_?'

"Enough, Miss Granger," Professor Snape interrupted. The girl apparently had been busy spewing chapters about the poisonous substance. "You cannot just give a simple answer, can you? We do need time to _brew_ , after all."

The bushy haired girl shrunk in her seat as snickers made their rounds around the classroom. Harry found himself eyeing the vial of venom once more. His head hurt.

"What you need to know," Professor Snape drawled. "Is that this venom is volatile, potent, and needs to be measured and used _precisely_. Today, we are making a weakened Fossilization Potion. This potion, when poured onto a substance or item, will change the structure of the item to strengthen it. The list of ingredients is on the board." Professor Snape waved his wand and the instructions appeared. "Also, you will find the Runespoor's venom inside the storage cupboard. Be sure not to get the venom on your skin; it its base form, the venom dehydrates its surroundings on contact."

Professor Snape eyed the Gryffindor side of the room. "Such a sensation is _not_ pleasant, I assure you. Begin."

"I'll get the ingredients," Harry quickly stated before Daphne could say anything. "You prepare the cauldron."

Harry leaped up from his seat, making his way to the storage cupboard right behind Blaise. Blaise nudged him with his elbow as the two entered the cupboard.

"I think Snape is actually trying to kill Longbottom," Blaise said conversationally, picking up a vial of the bluish venom. Harry grinned shakily, feeling quite off balance.

"Let me see that, won't you?" Harry murmured, reaching out to grasp the vial. Blaise shrugged and handed it over before turning to grab another. Harry looked down at the liquid glistening inside the crystal vial. It was swirling slightly, even as he held the vial still. Blaise patted him on the shoulder before ducking out of the cupboard. Harry stealthily stuck the vial in his robes pocket before reaching for another vial, praying that there would be enough vials that no one would notice.

He had to take it. Even if he was not ready to actually do the ritual, when would he get another chance to get Runespoor's venom? Even if Lucius and Professor Snape were scheming, getting the venom still suited him. Harry snatched up some other ingredients needed for the potion before rejoining Daphne with a smile.

The potion was nearing its final stages, and Snape was staring at him again. Honestly, he had been doing it the entire class period. Harry had resolved not to acknowledge the man. If Professor Snape suspected something, well, he wasn't saying anything about it. Besides, after Harry's realization earlier, he supposed that the two of them needed to chat anyway.

Daphne liked to gossip, it seemed. He had not spent that much time around the girl, but he was learning quite a few things from her – unimportant things – but things nonetheless. Talking about such insignificant topics was a nice break from the spinning gears in his head, so Harry humored her.

"Pansy really does not like you," The girl said suddenly, stirring their potion. Harry raised his eyebrows, but wasn't really surprised by that.

"The filthy halfblood that I am," He scoffed. "Do you know why?" He asked, pausing from cutting up ingredients.

"Well, she has always liked Draco," Daphne smiled. "I'd guess that has something to do with it."

"What," Harry said blankly, waving his knife. "Me hanging out with him?"

Daphne nodded, grinning. "That and the fact he'd rather listen to you and the other boys than her."

Harry stared off for a bit before humming in acknowledgement, but inwardly he could only sneer. Pansy was a brat – there was no other way to put it. So, she had a crush or something on Draco? He could care less, to be honest. But the girl was bloody annoying and was not going to stop being that way until Draco rebuked her.

Harry, tenderly, lifted the vial of venom and measured the amount that would be needed in the potion. Harry waited for Daphne to finish stirring before pouring the venom in, turning the warm green-colored potion an unforgiving grey.

Professor Snape swooped in, looking over the tops of their heads. "Good," He whispered, sending a chill down Harry's spine. The man swiftly moved on, leaving Harry to ponder.

Longbottom, with the help of Granger, managed not to kill himself as Blaise had suggested. Daphne was alight with happiness beside him; their potion had come out as it should and she was swimming with pride. It honestly made Harry a bit amused; nothing, _nothing_ would make him act as she currently was.

"We managed to avoid a catastrophe," Professor Snape announced. "For a Monday, that is acceptable. Dismissed."

Chairs scuffed the floor and low conversations began around him, but Harry took his time collecting his things. There was nothing to rush for; after all, the conversation he desired was right in front of him.

"Bloody awful class today, wasn't it?" Ron groaned, walking from the other side of the lab to speak with him. Harry shrugged casually.

"It was alright," Harry said. "No one messed up terribly. I'd wager that it was one of the better classes we'll have, personally."

Ron scowled. "Yeah, well Snape's a git. He gave us no marks for today."

Harry smirked. "Your cauldron was frothing, mate. Either a potion's right or it's not."

Harry glanced around the lab. Most of the students were filing out of the lab, but Draco stood near the door, watching him with an unimpressed air. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Look, Ron," began Harry. "I need to talk to Professor Snape about a few things. I catch up with you later, okay?"

Ron nodded eagerly. "I haven't even introduced you to my brothers," He said. "The twins are a hassle, I tell you."

"I look forward to it," Harry smiled. "Until later, then."

Ron beamed. "Bye, mate."

Ron walked out of the class, but not before throwing Draco a superior look. Draco countered with a sneer and a look directed at Harry that clearly said, "Really?"

Harry held his hands up helplessly before waving Draco off. "Later," Harry mouthed.

Draco crossed his arms, shaking his head before opening the door and departing for the Great Hall.

'He gets his feeling hurt way to easily,' Harry sighed. At least the room was empty now.

Speak of the devil.

"Mr. Potter?" Professor Snape questioned. Harry turned around to look at the man. He was sitting behind his desk, a sharp glint in his eye. "Is there a problem?"

Harry shook his head. "I was only concerned about your leg, Professor," Harry said sympathetically. "That was quite a limp you had today."

Professor Snape waved him off. "My leg is fine, Potter. I should be walking regularly by the end of the week. How did you find today's lesson? I do hope you…found merit in it."

Harry crossed his arms. "The potion was fine," He said. "I would probably enjoy something more challenging, though. I did well enough, I hope?"

Professor Snape raised his eyebrows, the corner of his lip twitching slightly. "You performed quite well, Mr. Potter," Snape replied softly. "In fact, you performed exactly as I had expected."

Harry ignored the flicker of anger licking at his intestines. Clearly Snape was not going to bring the topic up. That left one person to finish the job. "What are you and Lucius up to?" Harry asked bluntly.

Snape laughed. It was certainly not a pleasant laugh. Instead, it was mocking, sending jolts of rage up Harry's spine. "Quite a list of things, Potter. Mr. Malfoy heads the Board of Governors, contributes in the Wizengamot, and has a wife and child to concern himself with. I, as you well know," Professor Snape smirked tauntingly. "Teach. I also experiment in my lab during my spare time. Aside from that – "

"Pertaining to me," Harry intervened, fuming. This bastard had the audacity to _toy_ with him? "I know both of you are watching me, and I think there's more to it, don't you?"

"Potter," Professor Snape sneered. "Surely you are not so arrogant to believe everyone cares about you? My, my…such ostentation ought to be punished."

Harry bit back a growl, approaching Snape's desk with aggression. He slammed his bag down onto the desk, spilling the contents of Snape's ink bottle. Harry leaned in as the man snarled.

"I don't like games, Professor," Harry said. "I don't have the patience for them. Punish me if you want, but you _will_ answer my questions."

Professor Snape's eyes veiled over, blackness becoming even darker. "Careful, Potter," Snape said softly, barely a whisper. "You may not like the answers you find."

Harry ignored him. "We both know a certain ingredient today was meant to be there for a reason. What was the reason?"

Professor Snape stared at him for a moment in silence. Harry became aware that his breathing was coming in harsh bursts and his forehead ached from the crinkle in his brows.

Slowly, Professor Snape stood, motioning to the school bag on his desk. "Simply for that reason, Mr. Potter. A good afternoon to you."

Professor Snape walked around his desk, heading for the door to his office. He spared no backwards glance.

Harry stared with incredulity. That _bastard_. Hatred shook his frame and his wand was suddenly in his hand.

" _Laedo Morbere!_ "

Professor Snape swirled sharply on his healthy leg, his wand caressed by long fingers, to face the sickly green curse. The spell met a strong shield. The shield wobbled under the strength of the curse, but overcame it.

" _Weak_ ," Professor Snape smirked. "Next time you try to curse me - from behind, at that – at least use a curse that will impress me."

Harry's eyes widened. That was the strongest spell he knew…and it was worthless. Snape leered at him, and Harry was rooted in place.

"Detention, I think," Professor Snape announced. The man was enjoying every second of this meeting, it seemed. "Friday, 7 o'clock. And for your own sake, learn some better spells."

The Professor left for his office, and Harry was alone.

* * *

"What took so long?" Draco hissed. Harry avoided the boy's eyes, setting his bag down on the table in front of him. Harry rubbed at his face - he had left the potions lab moments after Professor Snape, but he was more conflicted than ever. Professor Snape's words stung on an emotional level that few had ever reached with him.

 _Weak_.

Compared to Snape, we was, wasn't he? That hurt. A lot. Harry had made to conscious decision to never be mocked for not being good enough again.

And yet, there it was. Professor Snape was the better spellcaster. The man had been involved in the war, after all. It only made sense that the man could cast well. The shield he conjured had been cast nonverbally – and not only that, but the man had expected the attack.

Self-doubt clawed at Harry's insides. ' _I should have gone with something wandless_ ,' Harry grimaced. The spell he had used on Snape would have left the man violently ill – it was a Dark spell, one that would incapacitate a victim for weeks. The illness would change based on what was done for it. And the man had _dared_ to call him weak after that?

What spell did he want thrown at him, anyway? A Killing Curse?

"I don't know what's wrong with you, but Quirrell will be coming in any second so get it together," Draco whispered. Harry heaved a sigh and nodded at the other boy. It wouldn't do to miss an opportunity to observe the stuttering fool that was Quirrell, after all.

"S-s-settle down, c-class," Professor Quirrell wavered, shaking as he set his briefcase on the teacher's desk. "Today, w-we'll b-be studying ab-bout imp-p-portance of proper wand c-care in sp-spellcasting."

' _Jesus Christ, save me from this idiot_ ,' Harry mentally moaned. His scar prickled slightly, as it always did in Quirrell's class, but the slight pain helped him focus. Seriously, how did anyone believe this bullshit? The man was a liar, from his stutter to his personality. Harry was still suspicious, but what was he to do about the man now? He decided to set it all aside –both Quirrell and his experiences with Snape - in favor of reading a spellbook Lucius had sent him; it was not like he actually had to pay attention in this class, right?

A sharp thud drew his attention several minutes later. Harry looked over the top of his book to see a student in the front row slumped over in their chair. Whispers broke out as the Ravenclaw on the front row shook her desk mate. The slumped figure did not respond.

"Is everything q-quite alr-alright, d-dear?" Professor Quirrell asked fretfully.

"I think he's fainted, Professor," The girl answered.

 _Plop_.

Harry turned in his seat to see Blaise falling to the floor.

"Zabini, get up!" Parkinson said, sticking her foot out to nudge the boy. Zabini, it seemed, was unconscious as well.

Harry slowly set his book down, keeping his gaze up. Whatever was causing this, surely it couldn't be a good thing.

"Alright, what the bloody hell is going on?" Theo cried as another boy slumped to the floor.

Draco, to Harry's left fell from his seat as well, knocking his head soundly against the marble floor. Harry started from the sudden noise, drawing his wand and sending his chair skidding as he stood. Students were dropping like flies now. Harry's eyes swiveled quickly, ready to defend himself, but there was nothing _visible_ happening.

At this point, only he, Parkinson, and a Ravenclaw boy were standing. The Ravenclaw shivered in place, unable to move a muscle.

Professor Quirrell had a hand over his chest, wide eyes surveying the class. The man looked scared out of his wits. The Ravenclaw was the next to drop, eyes rolling and collapsing into a desk.

' _What is doing this? There's nothing in the room_ ,' Harry thought desperately. He had already had one humbling experience today – he could handle this.

"What are you standing around for, Potter?" Parkinson screeched. "Protect me!"

Harry turned to the girl, a harsh comment ready to be fired, when a red spell surged toward the girl. Parkinson fell, leaving Harry to turn once more.

Quirrell.

The man stood still, wand outward, with the expression that Harry remembered from last week. The man's eyes were changed, however. Instead of Quirrell's usual pale eyes, Harry now gazed into deep red ones.

"What is your problem?" Harry asked, casting an arm out in Parkinson's direction. He was vaguely aware that the pain in his scar had increased. "Why did you stun her?"

Professor Quirrell smirked predatorily. "Her? My dear child, did you miss all the others I incapacitated? I did not overestimate you, did I?"

"It doesn't surprise me that you were doing it, but why leave me standing? What do you want?" His hand tensed on the handle of his wand, his other arm ready strike out with magic as well. He would not be embarrassed twice in one day.

Quirrell spread his arms wide, stepping over the fallen form of a student in the front row. "It is less about what I want and more about what you want, Harry. You did, after all, follow me last Friday afternoon. You have questions for me, I assume?"

"Of course," Harry said softly. "Like why did you try to rob Gringotts? Why do you act like a fool? What are you after?"

Professor Quirrell laughed. It was a soft laugh, one that sent shivers down Harry's spine, much like that day at Gringotts. "Fair questions, and ones I can readily answer; for the first, Gringotts was in possession of an item that I desire," Quirrell smiled, not missing a beat. "I am after my own gain, as we all are – you can relate, I assume?"

Quirrell raised an eyebrow at Harry, waiting for an answer. When Harry nodded, the man smiled once more. "As for why I act 'a fool'…I like playing games, Harry. Besides, who would suspect shaky, stuttering Professor Quirrell of any wrongdoing?"

Harry was interrupted from processing the man's answers when Quirrell lashed out with a question of his own.

"So, Harry," Professor Quirrell leered. "Were you aware of the consequences of your actions?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I usually am. What consequences in particular are you talking about?"

Red eyes glinted with emotion. "Why, drawing my interest, of course," Professor Quirrell whispered. "I've seen who you are…but I have not seen how you _react_."

The man vanished and the pain in Harry's scar subsided. Well, if this wasn't a déjà vu moment.

Wait a minute…

Harry spun with his wand raised just as Professor Quirrell reappeared. The man lunged for him with his arms stretched wide, reaching out to grab him. Harry swept his hand out, launching a chair at the man. Quirrell laughed as he sidestepped the chair with ease.

"Very good, Harry," Professor Quirrell praised. "Unfortunately, you cannot stop me."

A spell swept Harry's feet out from under him, sending him harshly to the floor. Harry gasped as his hip collided painfully with the leg of a desk. A heavy weight settled upon him, pinning him in place.

"Get off!" Harry yelled, kicking out with his feet to displace the laughing Quirrell. It was no use; the man was too strong.

"You cannot stop me," Professor Quirrell repeated, red eyes inches from his own. "You are powerless to stop me, Harry. You are weak. I can do anything I want to you. I have taken your will away."

Harry's wide eyes stared fearfully back at Professor Quirrell. The man deflected another kick, but it was a half-hearted one. Harry was defeated, restrained without even being injured.

Professor Quirrell's hand reached out, settling against the scar on his forehead.

"Good night, Harry," Quirrell mocked. The hand pressed down sharply, forcing the back of Harry's head to meet the marble floor. Stars burst forth in front of Harry's eyes. The man was laughing above him. His head was forced to the floor again and his vision went black, the last vestiges of laughter ringing in his ears.

* * *

Classes were cancelled for the rest of the day. After all, none of the students were able to pay attention after hearing of the first year defense class that morning. What could have caused an entire class of kids to drop over in a faint?

Rumors were circling through the school that the class had all fallen ill. Others had a magical creature as the culprit. The one person no one blamed was Professor Quirrell.

Professor Quirrell was inconsolable. The man had fled from the classroom as the last student fell, but refused (or was unable from fear) to describe exactly what had happened. The man was now being treated with the rest of the class in the Hospital Wing by Madam Pomfrey.

The Professors, led by the Headmaster, had thoroughly examined the classroom, but found no leads on what had caused the ordeal. Professor Snape had informed all the Slytherins that it was likely a witch or wizard was behind the attack. In response, the older years were now tasked with the duty of protecting the lower years.

In the Hospital Wing, the students were all unconscious. Harry Potter, though none of the students were aware, had actually been attacked after Professor Quirrell fled, but was healing from the ordeal. All the patients were asleep, except one.

Voldemort was exhausted. He had been in control of Quirinus for most of the past week and the man was still fighting him. How was he to strengthen himself in such a state? Still, the past few days had been productive.

Lucius was doing well in his assignments. If the man kept up the good work, perhaps his inevitable punishment could be reduced. His role in confronting Severus was well done, and speaking of Severus…my, what a _fun_ reunion.

The potions master certainly had a way with words, though his screams were much more pleasurable. Voldemort decided to give the man a chance to redeem himself. He was now burdened with a difficult task, but it was quite simple in practice.

Voldemort, in his exhaustion, finally let go of Quirinus' mind. He needed to recouperate.

' _But more than anything_ ,' He thought. ' _I need a new host. Soon._ '


	12. Responisibility and Constancy

"I think he's awake."

"I'd reckon you're right, twin of mine."

"And it's all thanks to you two, you gits! Honestly, could you be any louder?"

"Ronnie, that's no way to talk to your brothers –"

"Especially when they are here out of the goodness of their own hearts."

"Shut it, Fred. Neither of you have a heart."

"Oh, brother, how deeply you wound us!"

"By the way - Fred? Ronnie boy, can't you tell your brothers apart? I'm George!"

"No, you're not. I don't want to play this game."

"But really! I am George – honest!"

Harry blearily opened his eyes to see three fuzzy red orbs floating in the air above him, standing out from the bright yellow lighting. He blinked rapidly to clear his head, but his sight remained foggy and unclear. Harry turned his heads to the side to look around. Ah – there were his glasses.

"I told you he was awake!"

"I never doubted you, Georgie. Welcome to the land of the living, Harry!"

Harry fit his glasses snugly onto his nose before looking towards the voice. Ron Weasley stood at the foot of a bed, his ears as red as his hair. The boy was looking on in outrage at two taller redheads, both peering down at Harry with large, matching grins on their faces. But why were they all looking down at him?

Harry swiveled his head past the other boys to around the spacious room. Beds lined the walls, each covered in crisp, white sheets, and each furnished with a mahogany desk by its side. Oh great – he was in the Hospital Wing.

Harry's mind rushed back to the reason why he was lying where he was. A hand – Quirrell's – had slammed his head to the floor time after time. Harry winced as he recalled the laughter. That absolute _git_ had hurt him. When he got his wand to that man's throat, Harry would…

' _He beat me_ ,' Harry realized with something like ice filling his stomach. ' _Easily. I couldn't do anything to him, or to Snape, for that matter. I can't hurt either of them; they could do anything they wanted to me at any time – I have no power against them_.'

Harry was vaguely aware that his hands were shaking. Not since he was a child could he remember feeling…scared? Helpless? What would these wizards do to him?

"You okay, Harry?"

"Leave him alone, George!"

"I'm still Fred, Ronniekins. Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm fine," Harry interrupted as Ron's face grew even redder.

"Nothing a good meal couldn't fix, I'd imagine," The twin – George – said with sympathy. The older boy's features grew bright, however. "Right! We're Fred," He gestured to his brother, who bowed theatrically, "and George Weasley – this git's older – "

"And more handsome," Fred Weasley added, throwing Harry a wink as he stroked his chin.

"And talented," George boasted, grinning at his twin's theatrics.

"And all around better brothers!" Fred finished, his arms outstretched. "Pleased to meet you!"

Harry squinted at the two, unable to believe that he had met two people more climactic than Draco. Slowly, he removed his hand from under the sheets and offered it to the boys. "Nice to meet you two," He said as the twins both grabbed his hand at the same time, shaking it vigorously. Harry could only shake his head as they continued grinning.

"Oh good, he's awake!"

Harry turned his head to see Cedric stride through the large entrance door to the Hospital Wing, a stack of toast and bacon tottering on top of some napkins.

"Diggy the Pretty!" Fred exclaimed, a hand rising to his breast. "Why, we haven't seen you nearly as much this year!"

"I've seen enough of you two for a lifetime, thanks," Cedric joked, smiling pleasantly at the twins. "After you turned all my shoes into high heels last year, I think I deserve a break."

"But you looked marvelous!" George protested.

"Simply smashing!" Fred agreed.

"Smashing – yeah, I did a lot of that in those heels," Cedric said sardonically, taking a seat next to Harry's bed. Harry raised his eyebrows at Cedric when the boy smiled softly at him. "I brought you breakfast, pal; it's Tuesday."

Harry took the piece of bacon off the top of the stack, muttering a quick word of thanks. He nibbled on the end of it, very aware of the four sets of eyes watching him.

"So, er, Harry," Ron started awkwardly. "What happened to you? Classes were cancelled yesterday and the entire Defense class was sent to the Hospital Wing!"

Harry stopped chewing to look sharply at the boy. Ron shifted slightly on his feet, but his eyes held steady. The boy was eager to hear the truth.

Harry seethed inwardly at the feelings that one question instilled in him. What happened was something that could _never_ happen again. Outwardly, Harry shrugged dismissively, continuing to chew his bacon. "It's none of your business, to be honest. I don't want to talk about it, Ron."

"Pardon our sibling, Harry –"

"He's a bit dense at times –"

"And as insensitive as a giant at others."

Harry repeated his shrug, before taking the piece of toast Cedric was offering him. How the other boy knew he preferred marmalade on his toast, he was not sure.

"Shut it, you two. I know you two are as curious as I am," Ron muttered sullenly. "Why can't you talk about it, Harry? You were there! Quirrell went running around, screaming in fear, yesterday! If the Professor – "

"Seriously, kid, stop talking," Cedric frowned. "He already said no – badgering him isn't going to make him change his mind."

Harry shut his eyes and tried to reel back his anger. The others did not know how he felt, and he could not describe it to them, even if he wanted to. The fear, the disappointment…the pain. The emotions swirled within him like a whirlpool. It wasn't good to _feel_ like this. It put him on edge.

"But if he'd just –"

"Look, Ron – I'm not talking about it," Harry snarled, glaring at the boy as his anger slipped from his grasp. "Thanks for coming to check on me, by the way; that was really nice of you," He sarcastically added.

"Fine, whatever," Ron murmured, waving a hand dismissively. "You're being stupid, anyway."

Ron then turned to leave, an action that flayed at his emotions even more. Harry watched the boy go with sharp eyes, never hating someone more than he did in that moment. This boy – a boy he had known for days, mind you – had the nerve to demand answers from him? And then Ron dismissed him when Harry did not give him what he wanted?

Fred whistled. "Wow. Someone needs to lighten up."

"And the same someone needs to remove the stick from his arse," George agreed. "We can help with that, right, Fred?"

"Of course, George."

"I'd love to help you," Cedric muttered, his brows creased together.

"You three! Out of my infirmary this instant! Why did you not notify me that he was awake?"

Madam Pomfrey bustled forth from her office, brandishing her wand. "Get back in bed, Mr. Potter! I need to check you before I can release you."

Harry bit back a sneer, heaving his feet back onto the bed. Cedric clasped his shoulder in encouragement. "I guess I've got to go, Harry. I'll talk to you after class, okay?"

Harry nodded wordlessly to the boy, keeping his eyes on the Mediwitch's wand. If she tried anything funny, he would be ready.

"Right!" Fred clasped his hands together. "I guess we ought to go find some mischief to get into. Nice to meet you again, Harry –"

"And sorry for our prat of a brother. He's getting as bad as Percy at times –"

"Not quite that bad, yet. He isn't a Prefect, after all. "

"Yes, but he's –"

"Out, Weasleys!" Madam Pomfrey screeched, gesturing with her wand to the door.

"And don't let her use her thermometer on you! I hear it's quite large!"

"OUT!"

* * *

Harry was cleared by Madam Pomfrey to leave the Hospital Wing shortly after the others had left with a pass from class for the day as well as a command to, "go to the kitchens and eat a proper breakfast, not the bread and crumbs Diggory brought you!" Harry, however, had somewhere else to go before heading to the kitchens; there was a particular book in his dorm room that he desperately needed to look through.

Harry ignored the looks he was receiving. Apparently, the previous day's events were still fresh on everyone's minds. But what did it matter what they thought? The rest of the school probably saw him as a poor first year who had been hurt.

It was more than that, though. Severus Snape had purposefully targeted him. Quirinus Quirrell had purposefully targeted him. They both knew he was no ordinary first year, and Harry resented them for it.

Wasn't attention what he wanted, though? Harry hated himself for weakly thinking such trash. What he wanted was praise for his strength. He wanted others to acknowledge his superiority. He was not superior to Snape, nor was he superior to Quirrell.

It was time to change that.

But how, exactly? He needed to study harder than ever, that was obvious. In the meantime, he could not let the two wizards hold knowledge _and_ power over him, right? Knowledge could not be rushed. Power, on the other hand…

"Harry!"

Harry looked up from the ground to see Draco emerging from the Common Room with his bag draped across his shoulder. Physically, Draco looked as if nothing had happened to him on Monday. His eyes, however, Harry thought, looked dark and weary. Draco had not slept.

"Hey, Draco," Harry said softly, holding his hand out to the boy. Draco grasped it firmly, pulling Harry to the wall.

"I wrote to my father about what happened," Draco began swiftly. "I do not know who did it, or how they did it, but no one hurts the Malfoy heir and gets away with it, Harry – _no one_."

Harry snorted in consternation. "I know what happened and I'm taking care of it, Draco, I promise. I really need to –"

"Wait, you know who did it?" Draco's eyes opened wide as he placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Who, Harry? Who did it? Tell me! I deserve to know! I want to hurt them back!"

"You wouldn't be able to hurt them," Harry succinctly stated, grabbing Draco's wrists and lowering them to the boy's sides. "Trust me on this one, Draco; there isn't a damn thing you can do."

"But my father can," Draco urged him. "He can punish whoever did this, Harry. Just tell me who it is! They will never mess with us again –"

"No."

Draco looked at Harry shrewdly. Harry could feel his limbs shaking slightly. There was no way he would let someone else do his work. Besides, Lucius was already on Snape's side, right? What if he had another enemy to deal with?

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry grimaced at the question. "Look, I'll be okay. Can you trust me to take care of it?"

Draco squinted at him. "What are you planning to do?"

"I'll tell you later – I promise, Draco," Harry added as the boy opened his mouth to argue. "I just need you to trust me right now. There is a lot going on that you really don't need to get involved in."

"But my father – "

"I do not need your father to fight my battles for me, alright?" Harry said forcefully. "Go to class, please. I promise I'll let you know what's happening later."

"But what will I tell my father?" Draco demanded. "This is not just your problem, Harry; the entire class got knocked out!"

' _Yeah, but they are only after me_ ,' Harry thought sardonically. "Tell your father to keep his nose out of my business, thanks," Harry scowled. "I've got work to do – go to class."

Harry escaped from the wall, hearing Draco huff as he entered the Common Room. Leaving Draco unaware of what was going on was for the boy's own good. Draco was his friend, but he still was uncertain how much he should tell him when the time came. If Draco's father and godfather were both conspiring against him, Draco certainly would not be happy.

Harry crossed through the Common Room, intent on making it to his dorm, but a call of "Hey, Potter!" stopped him. Harry turned around to look for whoever had spoken, his eyes coming to rest on Felix Sykes. Sykes had his head turned around from one of the leather couches and a lazy smile on his face. Ever since his duel with Marcus Flint, Sykes drew attention from the Slytherins wherever he went. In the present, Sykes had his arm draped around a very pretty upper year. The girl flashed him a grin before succumbing to giggles.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Sykes, folding his arms to wait for the Prefect's words.

Sykes snorted. "You fly, right?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Here and there, yes."

"Are you any good?" Sykes asked, tugging the girl closer to whisper in her ear, causing her to giggle once more.

Sykes was holding him up to talk flying? Jesus…

"I'm a fair flyer. Is there anything else you wanted, Sykes?" Harry muttered, shaking his hand slightly in aggravation.

"Let me know when you go flying again, okay, Potter? I want to watch," Sykes elaborated, winking at him.

"Sure. If you'll excuse me, I need to go study," Harry turned, rolling his eyes. What a pointless conversation – and one that kept him away from _Ritualism: Borne of Sacrifice, Treasured for Eternity._

* * *

_The Druidic Ritual of Magical Conductivity_

_Magic exists all around us, rolling like waves, sharpening like ice, and striking like lightning. The Ritual of Magical Conductivity intones the participant to the movement of magic, enabling them to draw more magic for personal use._

_This ritual does not make a witch or wizard more "powerful." Instead, it allows the witch or wizard to enhance their spells with more of their magic. In addition, magical reserves are bolstered by the increased conductivity of the practitioner with the magic around them._

_What must be understood is that a witch or wizard's passive magic is not just a pool to be drawn from. On the contrary, the passive magic takes many different forms. With the completion of this ritual, the participant's magical nature will adapt slightly, allowing them to draw from the particular source of passive magic that they require. The witch or wizard will still be capable of transforming their passive magic, and much more efficiently than those who do not undergo this ritual. The end result allows the participant to draw from more of their magic, allowing for stronger spells and an enhancement of natural magical talents._

_The sacrifices required from this ritual will provide the magic necessary to optimize a witch or wizard's magical conversion. This ritual requires the lives of two magical creatures: one from an underwater habitat, and another from an earthen habitat. These creatures are required for several reasons, but the primary objective of each sacrifice is to provide excess passive magic of particular forms. Magical creatures from underwater habitats possess much higher levels of "wavy" magic – an adaptation to their environment. Likewise, "earthen" magical creatures (from woodland or desert habitats) possess a much rougher, spikier form of magic. (For a comprehensive list of suggested creatures for passive magic conversions, turn to page 479.)_

_This sacrifice also requires two runes to be inscribed onto the body through the means of a ritual knife. Though the runes and their location are up to the participant's discression, the runes must complement the conversive nature of this ritual._

_The ritual is simplistic in its practice…_

Harry flipped through the ritual book to find the list of suggested creatures, his mind moving faster than a nundu. Harry had taken his book to the library, surrounding himself with tomes from the Restricted Section. He was certain that this particular ritual would help him against Quirrell or Snape, and therefore it was an amazing find. The runes could wait – if the book was right, he could use pretty much any that he wanted to. But finding creatures that would inhabit the area around Hogwarts would be a problem. As for the runes…honestly, if they were to be imprinted on his skin, he was leaning toward using two that looked cool.

Hmm…were there actually acromantula near the school?

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry looked up from his book, sliding another casually on top. The Headmaster was smiling down at him, his wizened hand grasping the back of a chair. "I am pleased to see you up and about. Madam Pomfrey did not cause you too much trouble, I hope?"

"Morning, Professor," Harry smiled thinly. "I'm fine, thanks."

Professor Dumbledore nodded slowly in acknowledgement, taking the seat across from Harry. "I very much doubt that you wish to talk about what happened yesterday, so I shall leave my questioning at that."

Professor Dumbledore reached for one of the tomes on the table before Harry could react. "Ah," Professor Dumbledore said, adjusting his glasses with his thumb and forefinger. "Ancient Runes have taken your interest, then?"

Harry sighed silently in relief, nodding at the Headmaster. "Yes, sir. I've just started looking into them. It is really interesting how they hold their power."

Professor Dumbledore smiled benignly. "As with most branches of magic, Harry, the intentions of the caster shape the magic. Runes can carry immense power through the caster's intentions, especially when the caster sacrifices a part of themselves in the process.

Professor Dumbledore smiled with amusement at Harry's puzzled countenance.

"Blood, Harry," Professor Dumbledore added.

"But isn't magic involving blood a bit darker than most?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows, curious of the Professor's answer.

Professor Dumbledore paused slightly, his blue eyes catching Harry's own. "Blood magic is crude, for certain, but I hesitate to call any magic Dark, Harry. There are, of course, branches of magic that require the initiate to perform heinous deeds, but very few forms of magic are what I would consider irredeemably "Dark."

Harry listened with attentive ears, his research forgotten for the moment. That answer – from the hero of the Wizarding World – genuinely surprised him.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. Wasn't this man the purest of the pure? A man without fault? What on earth would persuade this man to teach an eleven year old about questionable forms of magic?

Professor Dumbledore leaned in slightly, his calm features becoming much more serious. "I tell you this because I recognize your talents, Harry. Your grades are spectacular, the Professors rave of your accomplishments, and I have seen you grow in your short stay at this castle. You are the future of the Wizarding World, I have no doubts about it."

Professor Dumbledore smiled as Harry opened his mouth, raising a hand to halt his words.

"I have said nothing that you are not already aware of, Harry. I do appreciate your modesty, however. For me to withhold knowledge from you would be criminal. Instead, I ask you to make your own judgments and realize the power of your actions. The more magic you hold, the greater your effects on others. You must realize this and claim responsibility for your actions. The magic all around us is constant; we must always remain vigilant."

"But then why did you turn my request for private instruction away? This is exactly what I had hoped for in the first place!" Harry cried, his voice sounding petulant to his own ears.

A flash of – something – crossed Professor Dumbledore's features before his smile returned, slightly wider than before. "I believe that having a mentor for your emotional and moral growth is much more important at this stage of your life, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said. "I shall, of course, mentor you in your own magical interests at a later time. For now, though, continue working hard."

Professor Dumbledore flicked through the tome quickly before nodding distractedly at a page. The Professor set the book in front of Harry, reaching out to pat Harry's hand. "I am proud of you, Harry. Responsibility and constancy; never forget."

Harry watched the wizard leave before diving into the book that the Headmaster had laid before him. Responsibility and constancy, eh? Ironically, a rune for responsibility appeared on the page in front of him. Harry smiled, pulling a scrap of parchment close to practice drawing the rune. He never saw the gentle smile on the departing Professor Dumbledore's face widen into a smirk.

* * *

Gillyweed. That was the answer. After finding the runes he would use in the ritual with Professor Dumbledore's help, Harry then had to decide on what creatures he would need to use as sacrifices. He was limited in many ways by his location. However, there was a clear answer to the "underwater creature," and that was the Black Lake. Cedric had mentioned once that his Magical Creatures class was studying Grindylows, a creature found in the Black Lake. Luckily for Harry, Grindylows were on the suggested list of sacrifices.

That brought him to Gillyweed. He needed to enter the lake and, well, _breathe._ By a stroke of luck, Harry had come across the term when he was searching for material on underwater creatures. By all means, such a substance (and potion ingredient) should be stocked in any Potions cupboard…

Harry was vaguely aware of the slight shaking in his limbs. He had skipped lunch to continue working out the kinks for the ritual he wanted to perform. Now, he had to find a way to sneak into Snape's cupboard to steal the bloody plant. It was so much bloody trouble to go through, but what was he to do? He had Potions with the man on Wednesday and there was no chance in hell he was willing to attend that class without a leg up on the man, with or without Draco at his side.

 _Draco_.

"Where is that little git?" Harry breathed, rising quickly from his chair in the library. He swept all his books back into his bag, leaving the rest for Madam Pince to collect. Harry looked up at the clock; the last classes of the day should be getting out in mere minutes, and Draco was currently in Transfiguration.

Harry sped down the hallway, his robes sweeping behind him as students emerged from their classes. The Transfiguration classroom was on the ground floor near the courtyard, so finding Draco really should not be a problem.

"Draco!"

The blond-headed boy turned around, the superior look on his face giving way to a frustrated grimace.

"Harry! You won't believe what Professor McGonagall made me do! She actually asked me to shut – "

"I need you to distract Professor Snape for me."

Draco's eyes widened, looking around furtively. "Is this about –"

"Yep, and I'm still taking care of it. Just go to Snape's office and talk about whatever, I don't care. I just need five minutes."

"To do what? And what am I supposed to talk to him about?"

"I don't know! He's your godfather! What do you two usually talk about?"

"Er – well, we usually talk about my problems and how stupid people are – "

"Then talk about that! C'mon, Draco; help me out, here!"

Draco sighed. "Potter, you've got to let me in on what's going on at some point. Do you know what I'd tell anyone else who asked me to do this?"

Harry shrugged. "You'd tell them to get lost and laugh at them as they walked away, I know. I really need your help, though! I promise I'll let you in on everything soon."

Draco shook his head with exasperation before smiling slightly. "Fine, Potter. When do you want to do this?"

"Now, of course."

"Alright," Draco said. "But you owe me for this."

Harry grinned, wrapping an arm around Draco's shoulders. "You have to get the job done first, mate."

* * *

The Forbidden Forest was lovely at night. The starlight fluttered through the tree branches, illuminating his clearing with clean light. Harry looked over at the Grindylow, tied up and stunned, at the corner of his makeshift delta. With the help of Gillyweed, catching that blasted creature was fairly easy. Of course, Harry had to work without casting spells (who could speak underwater, anyway?) but a quick, mental want to bind the Grindylow took care of it.

As for the acromantula – there was a bloody hive of the things inside the forest. Harry had come upon a group of them near the Gamekeeper's hut. Harry had been forced to stun all four of them, but only levitated one back to his clearing.

As for the runes – responsibility and constancy. If those words came from Professor Dumbledore's mouth, what better runes would there be? Harry smiled with amusement; he would have a hard time forgetting "responsibility and constancy" when they were practically tattooed to his forearms.

The rune for constancy was very fluid – there were no harsh lines, but rather wavy patterns, each one almost losing control, but turning back into itself. Harry decided to place that particular rune on his left forearm, in line with the Grindylow. Fluidity, right?

The rune for responsibility had no qualms with rough edges, but it appeared nimble and spry. The rune looked almost as if it could jump off of the page. Harry had practiced drawing each of the runes on all the spare parchment he had.

A howl from deep within the forest caught Harry's attention, bringing it back to the knife within his hands.

"Okay," Harry breathed slowly. "Nice and even, here. I want these things to look good, at least."

Harry dragged the knife through his right forearm, mimicking the lines on the parchment near his side. Blood dripped steadily from his arm, running down his hand, his fingernails, and falling onto his clothed thighs. There was a little bit of pain, but the red light emanating from the cuts intrigued Harry. He switched hands with a rattling sigh to start the second rune. Was he imagining the blackness surrounding the upturned acromantula?

The lights shining from within his forearms glowed brighter as Harry grimaced. With one last cut, he would be finished. A small pool of glowing blood surrounded his knees, enough to allow Harry's head to become weightless.

Suddenly, pressure took over his existence. Harry felt as if his eyes would pop out; the lights were too strong and the pressure too great. Harry dropped the knife in favor of kneeling over.

"Make…me strong," Harry gasped through the pain. He clenched the dirt around him with shaky hands. The bodies of the two creatures shone, the cries of each animal suddenly spilling forth. Harry watched as blues and blacks mixed with the reds of his own blood. The lights approached him, filling Harry with a sudden sense of dread.

All of that was forgotten as the lights entered his body through the newly carved runes.

Harry screamed.

* * *

"What is that boy up to now?" Severus Snape sneered, looking on at the soft glow coming from Forbidden Forest. A scream made itself known to Severus, who stood just outside of the Quidditch Pitch.

Lord Voldemort smiled with pleasure, looking on with something akin to pride in his red eyes. "He's doing what others are afraid of, Severus," Lord Voldemort whispered, his pale hand snaking out to grasp his follower's shoulder. "Harry Potter is not held back by silly preconceptions. He's hardened – and I want him on my side."

"Pardon me, My Lord," Severus Snape apologized. "But if we're to…recruit the boy…why did we attack him?

Lord Voldemort smirked, his hand providing Severus Snape his only warning, clamping down with force. "Harry simply needed a push, Severus…and we were only too happy to oblige, weren't we?"

"Of course, My Lord," Severus Snape agreed, bowing his head. The glowing from the Forbidden Forest subsided as the screams gave way to silence. Severus Snape had no idea what the boy had done – well, he certainly could recognize Olde Magick – and found himself dreading the next day of classes. He had Double Potions with the first years on Wednesday.

If you don't mind me asking, My Lord," Severus Snape started cautiously, receiving no rebuke. "What makes Potter so much better than other boys his age? He's powerful, certainly, but is that all you see in him?"

Lord Voldemort laughed softly as he raised his hand to caress the nape of Severus' neck. Lord Voldemort leaned in close, enjoying the fear being emitted from his follower – his property.

"It is not who we are on the inside that counts," Voldemort whispered. "But rather it is what we do because of who we are. I have never sat on the sidelines, Severus – _never_. I am all powerful; my followers view me as their Lord not because of my power, but what I do with it. Likewise, it is what my followers do because of their loyalty that pleases me. Loyalty only matters if it causes my followers to _produce_. Think about that."

Lord Voldemort patted Severus Snape mockingly on the back of his neck, laughing shortly at the wide, black eyes staring back at him. After looking back once at the Forbidden Forrest, Lord Voldemort turned to leave.

"Ah – one more thing, Severus," Lord Voldemort turned, his red eyes glowing with pleasure. "If I were you, I would be wary of Harry Potter tomorrow. He might… _electrify_."

Severus Snape swallowed nervously as he watched his master leave, laughing uproariously.

"How did I get myself back into this?" He asked himself aloud. The only answer he received was the Forbidden Forest glowing once more and a joyful laugh ringing out from within its branches.


	13. The Rule of Threes

The biscuit tin in her hand was masterfully carven from a rich, brown wood. The grooves of the wood swirled and wrapped around the circular surface of the tin to meet at a large, wooden knot at the top. The knot of wood was a slightly lighter color – almost a soft golden – and served as the lid to the tin. Professor McGonagall readjusted her wire-rimmed glasses before gracing her student with an approving smile.

"Masterfully done, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, setting the tin back on her student's desk. "I believe this is worth ten points for Slytherin House. Perhaps you have a few words of advice for your classmates?"

Harry ducked his head unabashedly, hiding a grin that could also be called a smirk. "Yes ma'am. I tried to focus on some branches and trunks that I've seen on trees and just let their appearance guide the spell."

Professor McGonagall nodded before looking out at the rest of your students. "Your classmate has the right idea. Focus more on what you know and what you wish to accomplish with your spellcasting. Let the magic determine what form your Transfiguration takes; let the wood do the transforming."

Professor McGonagall swished her robes around her, but first laid a hand on Harry's shoulders before moving on to her other students. "Very well done, Mr. Potter," She said lowly. "Your work these past two weeks has been spectacular for a student your age – I am proud of you."

Harry looked up into his teacher's face, seeing the warmth in her eyes. He graced her with a more genuine smile. "Thanks, Professor."

Professor McGonagall patted him once on the shoulder before moving on to the mess on Seamus Finnegan's table. Harry watched as she removed the scorch stains from the boy's block of wood.

"Thanks, Professor," Draco crooned to Harry's right, his hand shaking Harry's sleeve. Harry turned to the boy with raised eyebrows.

"Ten points beats two, Draco," Harry said, gesturing to the small tin in front of the boy. Draco scoffed, but a small smile remained on his face. "It does the job just fine, thank you."

Harry had completed his second ritual the previous week and had fulfilled his promise to Draco the very same night. The boy had waited up for him well past midnight and demanded answers in a whisper as soon as Harry had entered the dormitory.

After a long discussion – ranging from the books Lucius had loaned him (" _Rituals? Father wouldn't even let me read about them until I was ten_!") to the new lines and swirls that formed the runes on his inner forearms (" _You didn't? Alone?! That's brilliant! Those look wicked_!") – the two Slytherins skipped their first class before starting their days.

Draco had been so pleased with the conversation that it was bordering on smugness in Harry's opinion, but the boy was happy and took the…news better than he had expected. That was worth something, right?

As for Harry's magic…my, what a rush. It was like breathing clean air for the first time, Harry had thought. His spells were coming out much stronger, but the true change for Harry was the pulsing feeling that permeated his skin right before he performed a spell. For Harry, that feeling provided a thrill of accomplishment.

"So that rubbish you spilled out for McGonagall – was that really what you did?" Draco asked conversationally, a hint of intrigue coloring his voice as he swished his wand to revert his tin back into a block of wood.

Harry shrugged and shook his head. "It's what the book basically says to do. I just…do it."

Draco nodded slowly, his brows knitting in concentration as he prepared to transfigure his block of wood. "Thought so."

"It's all about intent, pal," Harry said. "At least I read the book, right?"

"Yeah - so glad you can read, Harry. Would one of you help me out back here?" Theo huffed from the desk behind them as he poked the block of wood with his wand. "Because this bloody thing won't _change_."

Harry looked back at Draco before shrugging. "Sure, Theo."

It turned out that Nott was mispronouncing the spell " _Lignium Mutatie"_ – and to be fair, Latin was not Harry's strong point either – but after a few minutes, a simplistic tin was sitting on Nott's desk, accompanied by a satisfied smirk from its owner.

The bell outside chimed, signaling the end of the day's class.

"I'd like a foot on the properties of wood in transfiguration and how you can improve on your work in class today. It is due Friday. Mr. Potter, you are exempt from the assignment. Dismissed," Professor McGongall said, raising her voice over the scuffling of chairs and disappointed groans of her students.

"Finally," Blaise sighed, meeting up with the other Slytherins outside of the classroom. "At least we are done with class for the day."

The small group set off down the Transfiguration hallway with Harry and his group in front, weaving through the older (and taller) students on their way back to the Common Room. Transfiguration was their only class of the afternoon, leaving several hours of sunlight to enjoy before dinner.

"Only two more until the weekend," Daphne Greengrass chirped. "I've already finished Professor Snape's essay, so the rest of the week shouldn't be too bad."

"Dammit, I knew I had forgotten something," Theo muttered to Harry's left. "And now I've got to get McGonagall's done as well."

"Really, Nott, could you be any cruder? Of course, Potter, the cat's pet got off without another essay," sniffed Parkinson.

"Potter's good," Crabbe grunted from the back. "He's good with his wand."

"Nicely put," Harry sighed, ignoring the false cough and snicker from Draco. "But thanks, Vincent."

"So what are you doing for the rest of the day, Harry?" Draco asked, a small hint of amusement still in his voice.

Harry tapped the bag hanging from his shoulder. "I finished Snape's essay yesterday, so I am pretty much done with schoolwork. I was thinking about grabbing Cedric and see if he wanted to go flying again."

Snape. My, wasn't that a lovely memory? Harry had served his detention with Professor Snape being relentlessly quizzed and thrown through a practical of offensive spellwork. Harry had excelled, much to Snape's growing agitation, and one or two of Harry's spells _may_ have sent the Potions Professor into a cursing rant.

Parkinson made an unpleasant sound, drawing Harry's thoughts out of the proverbial clouds. "The Hufflepuff? Shouldn't you be talking to more meaningful people than one of _them_?"

"Shouldn't you be less of a bitch?" Blaise questioned lightly. Parkinson screeched in outrage before storming ahead as the rest of the Slytherins snickered in ranging levels of decorum. Daphne Greengrass punched Blaise lightly as she continued to giggle.

"That wasn't nice," She accused him.

Blaise shrugged. "She isn't nice, either."

"Oh cool, there's Cedric," Harry said, spotting the taller boy walking down the Grand Staircase. "Draco, will you take my bag to our dorm?"

Draco sighed, holding out his hand dramatically. "This isn't the type of job that a Malfoy is suited for, Potter."

"But you're so good at it, Draco!" Harry grinned, placing his bag in Draco's palm. "See you later!"

Harry shuffled off to the sound of Daphne giggling once more to meet Cedric at the foot of the stairs.

"Want to go flying?" Harry asked, throwing a quick glare at a boy who had knocked into his shoulder.

"Sure thing," Cedric smiled, draping an arm around Harry's neck. "I just got out of Binns' class and could do with a wake up. You aren't stashing the Weasley twins under your robes are you? They have taken to – well, stalking me again."

Harry shook his head, the thought of the Weasley twins leaving him grinning. The twins had taken every opportunity to say hello over the past few weeks and had lived up to their word, teasing and pranking their younger brother every step of the way. The only problem was that Ron Weasley blamed Harry for "getting the twins going." Since that accusation, the two boys had not spoken.

Not that Harry minded. Draco was pleased, so at least there was that.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Cedric urged, steering Harry out of the main corridor. A short stroll led the two boys through Hogwarts' Great Doors and onto the grounds. Layers of clouds hung over the castle, bringing with them chilly winds that signaled the beginnings of the winter season. The cool breeze tickled at Harry's skin as the two walked in a comfortable silence towards the broom shed located near the Quidditch Pitch.

The goose bumps forming on Harry's forearms from the chilled air spurred him into thought. He had been at Hogwarts now for nearly two months – Halloween was later in the week and already the House Elves were laboring to decorate the castle. And what a two months they had been.

Friends. Quidditch. Rituals. _Magic_. Classes were not necessarily hard, but moments like this – walking down to fly with his friend, Cedric – would never get old. Life before discovering his calling, his _birthright_ , was experienced monotonously. Now, however, his senses were tested and his desires were sated. He _would_ become great. There was no other option. The lines and shapes on his inner forearms marked him for greatness.

He had not revealed his actions to Cedric yet. Cedric likely would not understand and would be concerned, Harry thought. Revealing his actions to the older boy would require planning and unique circumstances. However, he considered the boy a friend. He would tell him about the ritual eventually…though perhaps not the cost of the ritual.

"- with the Snitch?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at the other boy before realizing what he had asked.

"Yeah, grab one," Harry said. "I'll find one of the school brooms to use."

Cedric opened a leather case to retrieve a Golden Snitch. The released the golden ball for a split second, allowing the globe to zip sharply to the left before snatching it again with a grin.

"Be sure to grab a good one," Cedric said. "I want to see what you've got."

"More than you can handle, I assure you," Harry boasted, snatching up a shiny black broom with only a few bent bristles. The wood was curvaceous under his fingertips and smooth to hold, fitting perfectly within his palm.

Excellent.

"Let's do it," Harry beamed.

* * *

"Damn," Cedric panted, flexing his wrists to relieve tension. "You are really fast, Harry."

Harry rose to meet the boy, his face flushed from the cold and the exhilaration of beating Cedric to the Snitch again.

"So what is it now?" Harry questioned. "Five to three, my advantage?"

"Two of them from suicide dives," Cedric muttered, weaving his broom underneath Harry to emerge on the other side. "Seriously, I'm not even trying those dives unless it's in a match."

Harry laughed. "They're easy. Just be confident. Watch."

Harry ignored the groan from the other boy to lean forward harshly, flexing his left wrist to twist the black broom into a downward spiral. The yellow and black checkered pattern of the grand stands spun wildly in his vision, the chilly wind biting and roaring into his ears, whipping his robes into frenzy behind him. Harry's heart fluttered as the ground approached. He tucked his elbows in, twirling one final time before leveling out with a flex of his fingertips, nary five feet from the grassy field. Harry's exhilarated yell was nearly inaudible to his own ears as fast as he was flying.

"Who's that?" Cedric yelled, pointing towards the ground as Harry pulled out of his dive to rise back to his friend.

Harry looked down in the direction of Cedric's index finger. A boy with black hair stood near the grandstands, looking up at the two flyers with his arms crossed. From their distance, neither Harry nor Cedric could make out the boy's face. However, the posture was all too familiar to Harry.

"Sykes," said Harry, angling his broom downward once more. "He's the Slytherin prefect. C'mon, let's go see what he wants."

Harry received no reply from his friend, but he could hear the boy's robes billowing behind him. As he approached the older Slytherin, Sykes slowly began to clap.

"Not bad at all, Potter," Sykes said with a sly smile. "Impressive, even."

"How are you doing, Sykes?" Harry asked, his feet meeting grass as he reached out to shake the older boy's hand.

Sykes raised his eyebrows distractedly and re-crossed his arms, looking over the top of Harry's head to look at Cedric. "Better, now that I've seen you fly. You there – you're the Hufflepuff seeker?"

Cedric nodded, coming to stand at Harry's right, holding his hand out. "I am. Cedric Diggory, nice to meet you."

Sykes tipped his chin once, but made no move to shake Cedric's hand. "I need to speak with my housemate. Would you mind?"

Cedric blinked several times before finding his voice. "Er – sure. Harry, I'm going to go put my broom in the shed. Would you like to –"

"We will be returning to our common room, Diggory," Sykes interposed, not unrudely. "Waiting up for him would be unwise."

Cedric let out a small noise of incredulent protest. "Whatever," He sighed. "See you at dinner, mate."

Harry nodded, patting the boy on the shoulder with his spare hand. His eyes, however, were fixed on his house's prefect.

"Let's get one thing straight, Sykes," Harry said lowly as his eyes flashed. "You do not order around or dismiss my friends. I don't care how old you are and if you're a Prefect; I won't stand for it."

Sykes clucked his tongue, shaking his head as he led Harry up the path back to the castle.

"I told you to come get me so I could see you fly," Sykes remarked, ignoring Harry's statement. "But now that I've watched you, I wanted to tell you my decision before I revealed it to the rest of the Slytherins."

Harry kicked a rock out of his way, looking up speculatively. "You're…decision, huh?" He said.

Sykes nodded once more. "I am in charge of filling the Slytherin Quidditch team in case you had forgotten. It was the stipulation in my duel with Flint?"

"I remember," Harry replied tersely. "But what does that have to do with me?"

A low laugh emitted from the older boy. "Ah…well, that shouldn't be hard to guess. After scouting the flying talent of our housemates, I've decided that two of the former players are simply outmatched."

"Wait – you mean there are better players?" Harry asked. "Why are they not on the team already?"

"Buddies of Marcus Flint's," Sykes muttered, looking seriously down at Harry. "Flint, as Captain of the team, had a great deal of power, Potter. If he claimed that his two friends were worthy of being on the team, who would know any better?

"Perception is controlled by those in power, Potter. Once that power was taken away from Flint, I have revealed the truth. The truth is that there are two better flyers who are more worthy of being on the team."

"And who might those two be?" Harry asked shrewdly. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Margaret Whittingale, fifth year," Sykes said assuredly. "She'll be replacing Adrian Pucey as a chaser this season."

"And the other?" Harry asked heavily after a long pause.

"Why, you of course," Sykes grinned, his hazel eyes narrowing in humor. "You will be playing seeker, taking Terence Higgs' position."

Harry sighed inaudibly, looking up at the castle as they approached. He knew that had been coming. Was he ready to play Quidditch? Did he even _want_ to?

"Well, that will probably make my life more difficult," Harry stated dryly. "I'm sure Flint will just _love_ having a first year on his team."

Sykes tapped him on the back, a small laugh meeting a satisfied grin. "That's the thing, Potter; it isn't his team. It's mine. And while your addition will piss him off to no end, you are truthfully the best flyer I've seen from our house. I mean that."

Harry shook his head. "But I've never played Quidditch – hell, I haven't even flown before getting to Hogwarts –"

"Which makes me even surer that I've made the right decision," Sykes stated firmly. "I'm not a Quidditch junkie either. I took the Quidditch captaincy from Flint because I knew it was his most prized possession. Kicking his friends off the team tonight will be icing on the cake. Besides, all you've got to do is catch the Snitch like you were doing with your…Hufflepuff friend. You'll be fine, kid – I'll make sure of it."

Harry sighed once more. Honestly, he didn't mind that much that Sykes had picked him to play on the team. He was sure that he would excel because that was simply what he did. He would refuse to be mediocre. However, his presence on the team would draw the ire of several upper years – something he was loathe to let happen at this early on in his schooling. Who knew what spells and deeds the upper years were capable of casting and committing?

"…Who will run the practices?" Harry asked, his voice a bit flat, reserved of the fate that was out of his control.

Sykes shrugged before reaching out to ruffle Harry's hair. "I'll get Hooch to do it or something. Like I said, I know very little in terms of tactics and strategy regarding Quidditch. She would do a much better job than I."

Harry glared at the boy, parting and flattening the hair on the back of his head. "Another thing, Sykes – don't touch my hair."

Sykes produced another of his patented smirks, the left corner of his mouth drawing up into his cheek. "And how do you plan to stop me?" He goaded softly.

"I can certainly think of a few things," Harry said mutinously, drawing his wand as the other boy reached out.

His reaction earned a laugh. "Big bad firstie!" Sykes taunted. "I'll definitely learn my lesson, eh?"

"You don't even know what I'm capable of, Sykes," Harry muttered. "I suggest you heed my warning."

Perhaps it was the look on his face that made the prefect pause. Either way, he raised his arms placatingly, a softer smile emerging on his countenance.

"I hear you," Sykes said. "And, Potter? Thank you for your…cooperation. If you need anything regarding the team or otherwise, let me know."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but he let the statement wash over him. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad thing. With Sykes currently in power within the house, having his help was certainly an advantage.

Flying wasn't exactly a bad thing, either.

"I appreciate it," Harry said. "So how is this going to go?"

"Well…I'm going to announce my decision right now before dinner," Sykes grinned. "So I hope you're ready."

Harry stopped for a second to look at the older boy.

"Fuck," muttered Harry.

* * *

"Wait – so you are really the new seeker?" Blaise asked lowly.

Harry stabbed a small portion of his potato before nodding quickly.

"And it's supposed to remain in house, remember?" Harry reminded the boy.

The looks he had received in the common room upon Sykes' announcement were chilling to say the least. Many older years looked at him dismissively, but some of the expressions were jealous and spiteful. Hell, Flint had appeared absolutely murderous.

Which is why Harry had left the common room with his friends, avoiding the older years as quickly as possible. He did not need to test their abilities two months into his first year, thank you.

Draco had been quiet but supportive. If Harry was reading the boy correctly, the Malfoy heir was angry, but not at him.

"I really have no idea how this is going to go, though," Harry sighed. "Obviously, I've got to come through and play well if I want to get the upper years off my back, but I've never even seen a Quidditch match, let alone played in one."

"My father is friends with Royce Beeler, the Windborne Wasps' seeker," Draco said, speaking up at last. "If you'd like, I can see if he would be willing to talk to you."

Harry smiled softly at Draco. "That'd be brilliant, mate. Thanks."

"Sykes is an idiot," Parkinson said loudly from down the table. "Putting a first year on the Quidditch team. Why on earth did he think that would be a good idea?"

Harry saw as the Ravenclaws at the next table over turned to look curiously at the girl. He bared his teeth at the girl, making a shushing motion with his hand. Parkinson only sneered back, malevolence in her eyes.

"Potter won't even be able to see with those ridiculous glasses," She continued. "Let alone catch a Snitch."

"Potter's your seeker?" A Ravenclaw interrupted, looking down the table at Harry.

Parkinson nodded in disgust. "Pathetic, isn't it? We've held the Quidditch Cup for over a decade, and it's ruined by the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Cunt," Harry stated matter-of-factly, drawing a laugh from Theo and a horrified glance from Draco. Blaise raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"There goes the 'in-house' secret," muttered Harry, watching the damn Ravenclaws spread that bit of news. "Let's just eat and get out of here."

That would be more difficult than it sounded, however. Harry was interrupted from his meal by a tap on his shoulder.

Ron Weasley stood there, an incredulous look marring his freckled features.

"Seeker?" He questioned. "You?"

Harry set his fork down quickly as Draco stood, drawing his wand and sneering at the Gryffindor.

"Yes him," Draco stated maliciously. "Because he has actual talents, unlike you."

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Weasley snarled. "I wasn't talking to you."

Draco made a wild sound, stepping in front of Harry. "But you are now, aren't you, you blood traitor? Go hug a muggle and get out of my face."

Weasley reddened, but his blue eyes flashed. "Quite a pair of stones you got," He muttered. "I bet you'd go running to daddy if there was an actual fight though."

"Draco!" Harry snapped quickly. He had watched Draco's fingers tighten on his wand and his shoulder twitch. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble for hexing the boy.

"Are you siding with this idiot, Harry?" Draco growled. "This piece of dragon dung?"

"Spoiled brat," Weasley shot back.

"Son of a who-"

"Enough!" said Harry, grabbing Draco's arm. The flash of satisfaction crossing Weasley's face, however, brought Harry's anger with the boy to the surface. Harry stepped up to the Gryffindor, well aware of the attention they were drawing, both from students and from the faculty.

"If you want or expect an apology from me, Weasley, you can forget it," Harry whispered, looking over the top of his glasses at the boy. "If I wanted you hurt, I'd do it myself. Let me warn you right now – you couldn't hold a candle to me, Weasley. If I wanted to prank you, you would be miserable. If I wanted you afraid, you'd be pissing your trousers. If I wanted you hurt, I'd string you up by those raggedy robes you're wearing and I'd beat the living shit out of you. So if you have any common sense, you'll listen carefully to this bit: if you care about yourself at all, you will leave me and my friends alone."

Harry watched, maliciously satisfied as the boy's eyes widened in fear. However, he also noticed the boy raising his wand.

Harry's temper boiled over like one of Longbottom's cauldrons in Potions class. Who…how dare this kid raise his wand? To _him_?

Harry swiped his hand out, batting at the wand as if it were a fly. The wand in question went twisting through the air, falling far down the aisle in a noisy clatter.

Wandless. He had done that wandlessly. A grin found his countenance as Weasley backed up a step.

"Do you get it now?" Harry questioned softly, noticing Professor Snape gliding quickly over to the two of them. "It's not that you aren't on my level, Weasley; you're not even on the level below me. Stay out of my way and leave my friends alone. If not, you'll regret it."

With a final smirk, Harry turned and walked away from the stunned boy, leaving Draco to deal with Snape. That was probably for the best, right? As Snape's godson, Draco would have a better time of explaining the situation.

The Great Hall had been remarkably quiet as he had left, Harry mused. Obviously, such a confrontation would draw attention, but it seemed that more people had been watching than he thought. And honestly, did that even matter?

The small swishing feeling inside his robes reminded him of why he had left the hall, however. For nearly a month, Harry had kept several items on him at all times – not only because their presence was handy, but because their discovery by anyone else would be awkward, to say the least. In the inner chest pocket of his robes, Harry kept the extra bottle of Runespoor venom. Beside it sat a magically shrunken unicorn horn.

Why did he keep the two ingredients of the Ritual of Physical Potential on hand? Well, why wouldn't he? For the past couple of weeks, performing the ritual had weighed heavily on his mind. Harry…did not want to kill a centaur so selfishly, but in the past few hours, things had changed.

He was now on the Quidditch team, facing students much older than himself. That didn't really bother Harry, but the dissention that his selection could possibly cause in Slytherin did. Negative attention would not be good in any way, especially when his plans were considered. He could not be deemed _weak –_ certainly not now _._

That was simply the way it was; Harry had no turbulent feelings over the Quidditch thing, but the sheer _audacity_ of Ron Weasley to raise his wand on him…

' _Absolutely unacceptable_ ,' Harry thought, taking his first step back onto the dewy grounds. A chilly day had given way to a cold night. Harry lazily watched his breath frost in front of him, refusing to rise to anger again.

He had used his wandless magic to show that boy who was really in charge. This went beyond grades and a spell vocabulary. This was about power.

It was about time others respected his power.

The upper years in Slytherin did not respect him outside of how his grades reflected on the house. Hell, even Sykes thought he could get away with bullying his friends and treating him as a child. They certainly did not respect his flying abilities. Therefore, he would prove them wrong.

He couldn't help but feel contempt for all of them, though. His friends, who were around him enough to see what he was capable of, knew to respect him. But these other…children were ignorant. It was his job to teach them.

Perhaps it was how he looked – like the eleven year old, circular glasses wearing, messy hair with bangs kid that he was. What they didn't see was the runes etched onto his forearms. What they didn't see was the magic that he could do.

What they did not know was that he had killed. Already.

So why was he so uptight about killing a damn centaur? Truthfully, it was because he did not want to do it so selfishly. But the students of Hogwarts had changed his perception. Was it selfish? A little bit. But more than anything, his presence was going to change the Wizarding World – he knew it, and even Dumbledore had acknowledged it. It was time others knew it as well.

Which led him to the trees in front of him, gnarled and twisted in ways that were similar to the biscuit tin he had transfigured for Professor McGonagall in class that day. The Forbidden Forest.

It was time.

If was time for him to take over his life. It was time to get rid of his damn glasses. It was time to _look_ like a person who others shouldn't mess with.

The forest was quiet, as though the cold had sent all the animals into hibernation for the night. Harry reveled in the quiet crunching of freshly fallen leaves under his feet. The gentle noise comforted him and tightened his resolve. Where would he find a centaur? Who knew? How would he go about restraining one?

He would deal with all of that when the time came. He passed the clearing where he would perform the ritual, not nearly as lit up as from his last ritual. The clouds hung in front of a waning moon, blocking the moonlight from reaching the clearing. Harry continued walking straight past the clearing and deeper into the woods, the trees growing denser and more gnarled as he walked. A small trail of spiders scuttled past, moving from his right to his left.

" _Lumos_ ," Harry muttered, enjoying the rush of feeling as he held his wand aloft. A soft pit-patter from in front of him drew his attention, forcing Harry to stop. The muscles in his back tightened slightly in anticipation; inside this forest, a "soft pit-patter" could be literally anything. He remained silent, and the noise grew.

Slowly, through a small parting of trees and underbrush, two hooves revealed themselves, attached to sturdy, brown legs.

A centaur. Wasn't that _perfect_?

The centaur's equine body gave way to the sculpted torso and upper limbs of a man. Lines on the centaur's face marked his age, putting him well into his "middle years," whatever they were for a centaur. The centaur's light blond hair was swept back over the top of its head, bound at the nape of his neck. The feature that drew Harry in, however, was the crisp, bright blue eyes of the centaur.

"Good evening, young foal," the centaur said softly, swishing his tail as he approached Harry. "You have come quite far into this forest tonight."

Harry swallowed quickly before nodding. "Yes, sir – I needed to get away from the castle for a little bit."

The eerie blue eyes were unblinking, evaluating Harry. In return, Harry attempted not to fidget under their scrutiny.

Why did it feel like this centaur knew his intentions?

"The stars have told me much about you, Harry Potter," Damn those eyes, they _still_ had not blinked. "Of you, and your future."

"Hopefully they've told you good things," Harry joked. The centaur, however, did not laugh.

"Shall we proceed?" The centaur's pectorals flexed in anticipation, but Harry felt that he was missing something.

"…What is your name, if you wouldn't mind me asking?" Harry asked with narrowed eyes. Honestly, something was _wrong_ with this centaur.

"I am known amongst my people as Tuscas," the centaur Tuscas revealed. "But you are not here to exchange pleasantries, are you, foal?"

"How would you know, Tuscas?"

"The sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars," Tuscas softly sounded. "Be not darkened. Certainly not by clouds, I assure you."

"That makes absolutely no se-"

"Shall we proceed?" Tuscas interrupted gently.

Harry goggled at the centaur – he had never, in all his life, felt so out of control of a conversation. "What do you mean?"

Tuscas walked forward, the weight of his hooves echoing in Harry's ears. "The heavens have told me much of my own fate," Tuscas said solemnly, his icy blue eyes causing Harry more unsettlement than he would like to admit. "And even more about yours."

Did – did this centaur _know_? The heavens? The stars? Did they really reveal that much to this creature?

_Shall we proceed?_

"Er-yeah," Harry said, clearing his throat and focusing back on the centaur. "If…if you'd follow me, that would be good."

Harry turned slowly, his eyes still cast on the centaur – Tuscas – as he walked back the way he had come. The centaur dutifully followed along in silence.

This was _bizarre_. If this centaur truly knew what he was planning to do…if this centaur knew what the cost would be for himself…

 _'Don't think too much about it,'_ Harry told himself firmly. _'However it is that he knows, he knows_. _'_

Tuscas. He would not refer to the centaur as anything other than his given name. Harry was no animal; if Tuscas was willing to sacrifice what he seemed to be willing to sacrifice, then all Harry could give him was respect.

Harry sighed silently, shaking his head as he looked back to Tuscas, who had his icy eyes focused on him. He was messed up in the head, wasn't he?

The clearing was even darker than it had been twenty minutes ago. "We're here," Harry called softly. Tuscas trotted from behind him to settle in the middle of the clearing.

"Let me know if you require any help," said Tuscas, causing Harry to mentally cringe. Of all the things of a creature in Tuscas' position to say…

"I should be fine. Just give me a few moments to prepare."

The ritual was ingrained in Harry's memory, from its preparation to its procedure. The amount of times he had reread that excerpt from the ritual book that Lucius had lent him were innumerable. Two Deltas. Nine lines, three for each Delta and three to connect the vertices. The venom. The horn. The centaur.

The lines were easily measured with his wand to the necessary lengths. With a swish of his wand, the unicorn horn had reverted to full size. With it and the aid of his wand's measurements, all of the necessary lines were drawn.

In a few moments, he'd need the unicorn horn again.

Harry uncorked the Runespoor's venom, his nose scrunching at the volatile, acidic scent permeating from the bottle. Careful to avoid touching the liquid, Harry poured the substance into the lines at the lower left corner of the outer Delta. The electric blue liquid spread out along the lines, but quickly gathered at the point of the Delta.

' _That's unnatural, but kind of cool_ ,' Harry observed, rising once more to gesture to Tuscas. The centaur nodded and walked slowly to the apex of the Delta.

Harry looked down at the unicorn horn resting into his hands. The unblemished white, wiped clean of the silvery blood that had originally tarnished the pure horn, shined innocently, despite the lack of light. Soon, his blood would mar the horn once again.

Harry took a shaky breath. Was he really doing this? Right now? Was he really going to kill a centaur-Tuscas, further corrupt the pure horn of a unicorn, dirty the venom of a Runespoor for his own gain?

"Why not," Harry muttered. If regret would be his curse, he'd deal with it in the morning.

The pointed end of the horn was fiercely sharp, slicing through his left palm with ease. Harry drew the horn down the line that started under his index finger and ended on the opposite side as his thumb, and blood pooled rapidly at the base of his wrist.

Shockingly, Harry discovered as he cut through the palm of his left hand, there was no pain. Whether was caused by his adrenaline or the horn, he could not decipher. Harry looked back at the horn in his hand, coated with rich, red blood, and placed it point down at the right vertex of the outer Delta.

Harry then walked over, upturning his hands to let the blood pooling there fall and mix with the Runespoor venom. A soft hissing sound was made, but there was no other observable difference.

And now, Tuscas.

Harry approached the centaur, his wand held between his thumb and index finger to avoid the blood.

"To do this ritual properly, you have to be tied down to the vertex," Harry said quietly. "Would you mind if I cast the spell to do so?"

Sharp, clear blue eyes met his. "By all means, Harry Potter."

Harry shut his eyes briefly, mourning what was about to happen to the centaur he had so quickly come to respect. Make no mistake – he was absolutely mystified and confused by the creature's actions, but he respected the resolve and…purpose that Tuscas emitted.

" _Incarcerous_ ," Harry breathed.

Ropes wound their way around Tuscas' neck, his underarms, and waist before attaching themselves to the pinnacle of the outer Delta.

Harry tossed his wand aside, along with it his robe and shoes. Was that necessary? No, but Harry had grown sick of wearing them.

He reached out with bloody hands, smearing them on the shoulders and pectorals of Tuscas. Harry found himself unable to meet the eyes that were following his every movement.

"Freedom, forevermore," Tuscas whispered into the wind. "Freedom, forevermore."

"…Yeah," Harry agreed awkwardly, turning to make his way back to his Delta, the inner Delta. Harry kneeled down, bowing his head.

How did it go, again?

""Dona mihi usum," Harry intoned, looking back at the venom now pulsing madly in the left vertex. "Dona mihi vitam."

The horn swirled in place as a line of pure magic connected it to the Runespoor venom. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck quickly stood on edge and with them a sense of intense foreboding. Harry looked up, strong eyes meeting his for a final time.

"Victoriam dona mihi!"

Lines of magic pulsed erratically, Screams were made, and Harry saw stars. His head, his bones, his muscles – all of them burned with a fire that he could not see. His screams echoed loudly amongst the trees before he gritted his teeth to stop them.

His screams were nothing compared to Tuscas'.

Harry looked up to see the centaur thrashing jerkily within his confines. Where Harry's blood had once rested, severe burns had taken their place, bubbling the centaur's skin with an unidentified heat.

The view horrified Harry, but he could not look away. Tuscas' eyes had rolled back and blood poured from his scalp and eyes. The pristine coat of his lower body now fell away from its roots, leaving naked skin to bubble and boil.

"Potter! Wha-what are you doing?!"

Harry looked up quickly to see a flash of red hair, sprinting across the clearing towards Tuscas as he screamed out in agony. Harry's eyes widened as the boy drew nearer.

"Ron, don't!"

The boy quickly approached the left side of the Delta. As he did, he was launched back in an explosion of magic, sparking in a multitude of violent colors.

Harry cried out harshly as the pain intensified. He drowned in that pain, in the shifting and pulling and twisting and _correcting_ and the world fell silent.

"Ron," Harry moaned. "You fucking idiot; why on earth would you do that?"

He rolled to his right, struggling to sit up. Once he did, however, the sight that met him was not pretty.

And fuzzy.

Harry removed his glasses, allowing himself a small feeling of triumph, before moving his eyes to view the charred corpse of Tuscas. It remained at the pinnacle of his Delta, lying in a useless heap, much less glorious than its previous form.

Where the unicorn horn had rested, there was now a pile of ashes – pure, white ashes, but ashes nonetheless. The venom was completely gone.

When Harry looked to his left, however, the body of Ron Weasley lay motionless, spread-eagle on the ground.

"Shit."

"Well said, Harry Potter…well said indeed."

Harry turned, quickly, ignoring the burn of his muscles to meet the eyes looking back at him.

Red eyes.

"My, my," Professor Quirrell remarked quietly, his eyes scanning the fallen form of the youngest Weasley before settling once again on Harry, a pleased grin to match. "Someone has been quite busy."


	14. Dealing with the Devil

Harry grimaced slightly as he rubbed the dirt off his fingers, but he never dared to take his eyes off Professor Quirrell. The man in question had turned away from him briefly, leisurely moving to examine the body sprawled out in the dirt.

Harry's heart raced and his muscles burned, especially the ones in his calves has he pushed himself off the ground. The situation – was not good at all. Quirrell, a bloody _teacher_ , had discovered him in the midst of a ritual. Harry had as good as murdered a centaur in his presence; and who knew what shape Weasley was in? The damned idiot had to go any make everything worse, didn't he?

"Not the brightest boy, is he?" Professor Quirrell questioned lightly, nudging Weasley's face with the end of his boot.

Harry watched on in silence as he edged imperceptibly towards his wand, lying innocently a few feet away.

Or rather, almost imperceptibly, it seemed.

Professor Quirrell's head snapped quickly back to Harry. Through the shadows, Harry could make out the traces of a grin. It was hard to miss those eyes, as well.

"Now, now, Harry, do you really wish to pick a fight this early on?" Professor Quirrell goaded softly, slowly turning to face him.

"Considering the fact that you have attacked me every damn time we meet, it's probably my turn to turn the tables, right?" Harry gritted out, balling bloody fists at his sides.

Professor Quirrell tipped his head in acknowledgement, taking assured strides to approach Harry. In turn, Harry's body tensed as his scar seared with a sudden pain. If the man tried to vanish on him again…

"Tell me something…Harry," Professor Quirrell drawled, face to face with the boy. "Do you even know to whom you are speaking?"

Harry scoffed, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. "Quirinus Quirrell – former Muggle Studies professor, and a rubbish Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

" _Wrong_."

Harry raised his eyebrows, silently urging the man on. Instead, a dark chuckle was all he received in response.

"The Weasley child had a dog with him," Professor Quirrell said. "Very amusing, isn't it, that the dog had the common sense to turn and flee when Ronald Weasley himself did not? Look at him now…lifeless."

Harry ignored the jolt of dread that raced down his spine. He was not happy with the boy, but he really hadn't meant to _kill_ him.

"So he's dead then?" He eventually managed to get out. Professor Quirrell raised an amused eyebrow, but it seemed that the man refused to answer that question as well.

"That is not important," Professor Quirrell said, surprising Harry. Really, the boy's life was "not important?"

The red eyes locked onto his own were shining in eagerness. "Let us instead talk, Harry Potter. If I were to ask you how you managed to survive a Killing Curse cast by the most powerful wizard in the world, what would your answer be?"

Harry looked down, the intensity of the red eyes and the danger in the man's voice rattling his senses. Regrouping himself quickly, Harry steeled his expression, looking up once more. "I'd say that I couldn't be sure, but the wizard got what he deserved, trying to off me."

In three quick strides, Harry found himself looking up into Professor Quirrell's darkly amused face. Harry's eyebrows knitted together as the pain originating in the scar on his forehead hit a crescendo.

"And if that wizard who, as you say, 'got what he deserved,' stood in front of you today," Professor Quirrell murmured, so softly that it was nearly a whisper. "Would you say the same?"

Vaguely, Harry noticed that his breath was coming quicker in short pants. The weight of his legs, astonishingly, seemed to have disappeared with a Feather-light Charm. Despite this, Harry felt the stirrings of anger. Professor Quirrell was toying with him again.

 _Again_.

"Yes," Harry spoke through gritted teeth. "And if he was standing in front of me, I'd ask him what the hell he was thinking, planning to kill off a toddler."

Harry flinched violently as a hand came down to pat him on the shoulder. Regrouping once more, Harry realized that Professor Quirrell was laughing at him.

 _Laughing_!

"Harry Potter, you are not even aware of how much I admire you," Professor Quirrell said, shaking his head in mirth. "Enough of these games, then - Lord Voldemort, at your service."

What. The. _Fuck_?

Harry took an involuntary step back, tripping on the heap that was his discarded robe. A quick hand grasped his wrist, pulling him even more quickly back to a vertical base. The red eyes of…Lord Voldemort?...stared back at him, even more amused than before.

"Perhaps 'at your service' is a bit of a lie," Voldemort continued, as if Harry had not tripped and interrupted him. "I serve no one – it works the other way around."

The blasted eyebrow was raised in Harry's direction once again. "Please do tell me when you've pulled yourself together, Harry Potter; we have much to discuss."

To say that Harry's emotions were turbulent would be a gross understatement. The fear and anxiety of having another – two others, at that – bear witness to his ritual was unsettling. Even more so, that unsettlement mixed with anger, frustration, and the combination frayed at his nerves.

This man…the man standing in front of him, wearing the appearance of another, was as dangerous and powerful as they came. Harry could almost sense the man's power through the goose bumps lining his skin, pulling his skin taut and forcing his muscles to tense even more.

What was he supposed to feel? Awe? Contempt? Lord Voldemort had singled him out, a courtesy that Harry was sure would flatter many people, with the desire to…talk? Is that truly all the man wanted? Harry let out a small snort of air through his nostrils. Of course that wasn't all he wanted; the man was a Dark Lord – a leader, an aspiring _ruler_.

More than anything, one thought lingered in the forefront of Harry's mind.

"You killed my parents," Harry stated matter-of-factly.

A twitch of thin lips gave way to a humoring nod. "Yes. I did."

Harry looked up into remorseless red eyes. He took a deep breath and turned away, reaching down to the ground. That utterance was all that was needed for an emotion to rule his actions.

That emotion was anger.

Scooping up his wand from the pile of his discarded items, Harry arched his lower back, moving to stand upright. A wand, however, jabbed at his neck.

Harry glared back at Voldemort's daring expression, his upper lip quivering with restrained malice.

"Do you want an apology?" Lord Voldemort asked callously, inspecting the fingernails of his left hand. "I could give you one, if that would settle the matter; however, the apology would be completely insincere."

The anger in Harry's heart bubbled over, making itself known in his throat. "I don't want an apology, Voldemort; I want retribution."

The man scoffed, digging his wand into the side of his neck. "For what? For an act committed a decade ago? For a crime in which I have already suffered a fate worse than death for? Harry Potter, if anything, I deserve recompense for what _you_ have caused."

Harry's mouth fell open on its own accord. "You think I owe _you_? Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. You come into my house, annihilating the only chance I would ever have at a normal life, and you demand payment from me? You're mental, Voldemort."

"It is only through my grace, my _mercy_ , Harry Potter, that you are still breathing," Lord Voldemort snapped. "And do you really wish you that you had had a 'normal' upbringing? That is neither here nor there, however…you say you have no idea how you survived my Killing Curse and I believe you. In fact," he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. "I don't think you'd be so lucky as to survive another one. What do you say we test that theory, Harry? Feeling up to defying the laws of nature once more?"

Harry ignored his fleeting heart. "Go ahead," He goaded the man. "Try it. I'll make sure you regret this one as well, you bastard."

The wand at his neck prodded painfully at his trachea for a moment before being pulled away. The dratted grin was back on Voldemort's face, all traces of anger gone.

"A bastard," The man nodded. "Yes, I am most certainly that."

Harry rubbed at his throat with his left hand, his right coming up with his wand to point at the man in front of him.

"I killed my own father, if it is any consolation," Lord Voldemort revealed smugly. "A muggle of the worst sort. He turned his back on my mother and on me before I was even born."

Harry listened in silence, his anger slowly leaving him as self-preservation kicked in. Honestly, what had he been thinking trying to pick a fight? That was no way to get out of this unscathed. Voldemort, it seemed, was invested in his own story.

"My mother…she was no angel, either," Voldemort continued, shaking his head in ironic humor. "A squib, or nearly one. Foolishly, she enslaved my father, having no hope of seducing the man of her desires herself.

"My parents' incompetence landed me in an orphanage where I spent the first eleven years of my existence – oh, I see I have your attention now, don't I, Harry? We are so similar, after all. Both powerful, both originating from unseemly backgrounds – does your contempt for the non-magical population run as deeply as my own, I wonder? Being raised amongst the dogs, it is hard not to develop that ire, that itch that cannot be scratched."

Lord Voldemort had begun pacing with his speech, but now stared again into the boy's eyes.

"We even look something similar, as you will see when I regain my own body," Voldemort acknowledged. "And through all of this, Harry – from our first meeting until now – I have done whatever possible to aid you in your own discovery of magic."

Harry shook his head in denial. "Lucius Malfoy provided me with the book on ritualism. Severus Snape…I think he knows what I am doing. During class a while back, he had us brew a potion that required Runespoor's venom. What have you done?"

A pleased grin marred Voldemort's face. "Who ordered Lucius Malfoy to provide you those books? Who revealed to Severus Snape the need for you to obtain Runspoor's venom? Who provided the unicorn horn that you have neglected to mention? I did.

"I have watched you perform each of your three rituals, Harry. I have kept an eye on you from your first day at Hogwarts until now." The sadistic grin morphed into a satisfied smirk. "I even provided you with the runes for your second ritual."

"No," Harry whispered softly. That was Dumbledore. Right? And Lucius said he no longer followed Voldemort!

Voldemort tilted his head to the side. "What use is having a full-fledged Potions Master as a follower if you are not going to use his talents, Harry? Polyjuice is such a simple disguise, and so easily overlooked when one has the ability to _act_."

Harry looked down, the edges of the runes on his forearms peeking out of the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

"Looking for _lessons_ , are you, Harry?" Voldemort smiled.

Harry ignored the man – he _was_ , but from Voldemort? "Why did you pick these, then? Constancy, responsibility, what do they mean to you?" Harry questioned.

Voldemort chuckled darkly. "Despite what I said earlier, I do not blame you, I hope you know," The man uttered softly, dismissing Harry's inquiries. "It would be so easy to hold a grudge, Harry, but the fault lies with me. More than anything, your ambition to succeed has placated my anger. You live, and have not wasted your life wandering about."

"I made a mistake, that night. What exactly that mistake was, I still am not sure. Inexplicably, you survived when I turned my wand to you, and you caused me the most pain I have ever experienced. Ahhh…such pain, certainly beyond tolerance – but I withstood it and was ripped from by body as it turned to ash, condemning me to a miserable existence. As I said, it would be only too easy to hold you accountable.

But I do not. You lived. I survived. And Quirinus Quirrell approached me, the weakling he is, hoping to use me to bolster his own reputation. And I couldn't stand for that, could I? He…lent me his body, but has since betrayed my good will."

Harry could barely keep track of the man's words; watching the man pace had left him disoriented. Pinching the bridge of his nose to lose that sense of dizziness, Harry asked the question prevalent in his mind: "So is he alive?"

Lord Voldemort tapped his chest lightly with both hands. "In this body? Yes, he is alive – but only just."

"What have you been up to since then? Surely you are not here by coincidence?" Harry questioned, gesturing vaguely with his wand hand. He had to stifle the sense of outrage he felt when Voldemort did not so much as tense at the motion. Damned Dark Lord…

At Voldemort's pleased expression, dread formed in the pit of Harry's stomach. Surely nothing good could come from that look.

"Understand, Harry, that before Quirrell had approached me, I was forced to use to the bodies of animals to sustain myself. I was in no position to do anything else. However, when Quirrell arrived, so _generously_ offering himself to me," Voldemort's grin was positively ferocious at these words. "I was finally given the opportunity to do more than simply exist.

"Overpowering the man was only too easy. Quirrell is untalented, he cannot tolerate pain, and he's weak. After defeating the pathetic man, I turned my sights to bigger goals."

Harry stiffened, watching warily as Voldemort approached him once more.

"Do you know what is inside the castle at this very moment, Harry Potter, tucked away and hidden from the rest of the world?" Lord Voldemort murmured lowly as he rubbed the fingers of his left hand together, as if imagining whatever the object was was resting in his palm.

"The Philosopher's Stone, Harry," He continued unblinkingly, gazing directly into Harry's eyes. "A stone of mystical properties – a stone that will restore my body to me. It was my intention to obtain the Philosopher's Stone before Albus Dumbledore could procure it, but I was unsuccessful."

Harry mind jolted to life when he considered the man's words. "You mean Gringotts, right?"

Voldemort tilted his head downwards in acknowledgement, his red eyes locked onto him under harsh eyebrows.

"So you want the Philosopher's Stone," Harry repeated, imagining such a stone as he spoke. Honestly, he wouldn't mind having a stone like that, himself – and he still wasn't even sure what it was, either. "But you've failed to explain what that has to do with me. You've confronted me several times, going so far as to attack me. You've been in contact with Snape and Lucius Malfoy. What do you _want_ , Voldemort? What do you want from me?"

Red eyes flashed with unspoken plans and indecipherable ambitions. Voldemort took a step closer, standing toe to toe with Harry.

"I want a great many things, Harry Potter. I want to regain my body. I want to rule the Wizarding World. I want every man, woman, and child to recognize me as their master, their savior, and as their Lord who will lead them into a better world.

"But more than anything, Harry – right now, I'd like to negotiate."

Harry looked at Voldemort in disbelief.

"You've got a weird way of showing it," Harry said, snorting. "Let's hear it, then. I'm sure it will be good."

Voldemort smirked down at him before looking over his head out into the woods. "I have an offer for you, Harry – one that you should consider carefully. Recently, I came to the decision that Quirinus Quirrell is no longer a suitable host. The man was supposed to aid me in my attempt to obtain the Philosopher's Stone, but his effort has been…deplorable."

Voldemort looked at him once more. "And so, Quirrell will be disposed of. But you could perform much more competently than Quirinus Quirrell, couldn't you, Harry?"

Harry found himself grinning at the thought. "Could I? Definitely. But why would I want to help you, Voldemort? Do you realize what you are asking me to do? By helping you get your body back, I'd be restarting the war. I have no desire to do that, thanks."

Harry's nerves had calmed - as much as one's nerves could calm in the presence of Lord Voldemort, that is – and he found himself smiling. Voldemort was as good as asking for help. From him. That revelation left Harry…satisfied.

"You see, Voldemort," Harry whispered victoriously. "I'm the one in control, here. I'm the one with the leverage. Why should I help you? Why should I help the man who murdered my parents? You obviously need me much more than I need you."

If Harry could frame the scowl that was currently on Voldemort's face, he would have done so in a heartbeat. The moment he had the Lord Voldemort at his feet – framed in a picture.

"I…deeply respected your parents," Voldemort grunted out. "They were amongst the most dangerous witches and wizards that opposed me. And because of this, they forced my hand."

"Do you expect me to care?" Harry uttered mockingly, enjoying the look of contempt flashing across Voldemort's face. "I don't give a shit. But look at you – a Lord, bending his neck for help from a school boy. You are path-"

In a flash of force and pain, before Harry's brain could even process what had happened, Harry's back cracked soundly against the trunk of a tree. A hand clawed at his scalp, fisting his hair in a vise before Harry could even utter a sound.

Through the sharp pain searing through his spine and the red eyes nearly glowing in anger, Harry realized he had gotten carried away – way too carried away.

"I am the _fucking_ Dark Lord Voldemort," Voldemort growled, barring Quirrell's yellowed teeth. "And if you even _think_ you can get away with talking to me like that, you are woefully mistaken."

The muscles in Harry's neck cramped slightly under such a tight hold, but Harry was focused on one thing.

"How did you do that?" Harry gasped out. "You didn't even raise a hand. How does someone cast a spell without _casting a spell_?"

Harry looked up, aware that he was nearly touching foreheads with Voldemort, and the soft laugh his ears sensed brought back the fear Harry had originally experienced.

"After everything you've done in this forest," Voldemort nearly purred. "You still hold that silly notion that magic is cast only through the hands?"

"That's what the books the school's assigned all say," Harry defended, wincing as he arched his back. "I had assumed all magic was stored in the body and channeled through the arms and chest or whatever. I recall the term 'core' being used once or twice – "

"That term is completely inaccurate," Voldemort replied harshly. "What sense would it make for magical beings to 'store' magic? We are _magical_. Our magic runs through the body of its own volition. No part of the body is not saturated with magic."

"…Really?" Harry could not help but say, intrigue coloring his voice. "So how do we cast spells, exactly?"

The hand gripping Harry's hair loosened, but Voldemort's mutinous expression did not change. "The traditional manner of casting spells joins wand movements and incantations to fuel the formation of the spell. The wand movements are made to mimic patterned lines that appear in the runes that make up the spell."

Seeing Harry's puzzled expression, Voldemort elaborated. "For example, the Levitation Charm was created with two simple runes – the rune representing flight and the rune for constancy. The 'swishing motion' mimics the largest line in the rune for constancy, causing your magic to continue fueling the spell until purposefully ended. The 'flicking' motion imitates the origin line in the rune for flight."

"Origin line?" Harry asked hollowly.

Voldemort's upper lip curled in amusement, but he continued on in his explanation.

"Witches and wizards have a system much like the nervous system in their bodies – I assume you remember the nervous system from primary?"

Harry nodded slightly, spurring Voldemort on.

"Magic flows within the body through this system, but there are small points within the body where magic does tend to slow in its movements and build up. This phenomenon was first classified and labeled in the magical culture of ancient India as 'chakra.' There are a handful of these nodes within the body, and magic spreads from them, soaking every cell in the body from these points. As such, magic enters and exits the body mainly through chakra nodes. The main exception to this is that magic can leave the body through the blood; the circulatory system within the body is closely related to these chakra points and their passageways."

Harry found himself murmuring in amazement. "So spells can be cast from any of these points?

Red eyes relaxed as a lazy grin adorned Voldemort's face.

"And you wanted magical lessons from Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort uttered mockingly. "Why would you wish for lessons from him when a much more capable instructor stands before you?

Harry grimaced unpleasantly, drawing another dark laugh from Voldemort.

"I would not neglect mentioning any practices of magic, Harry – knowledge is power, and magic is power multiplied exponentially, after all. You desire to learn the Dark Arts? Done. Who has broached the depths that are the Dark Arts more than I? I've dabbled in Alchemy, Transmutation, Ritualism, Celtic and Druidic Magics, and more…much more. You require an instructor? Let me let you in on a secret, Harry – I've always desired a pupil for my teachings, but none have proven themselves worthy of me."

Voldemort ran his hands down the sleeves of Harry's shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles that his abrupt assault had caused, a fuliginous smile gracing his face.

"In return for your service, Harry, I will lend you my knowledge and expertise – both, you will soon find, are invaluable."

Harry's mind raced as he looked warily at the man in front of him. Ultimately, he was being offered knowledge in exchange for directly causing the Dark Lord to return.

Quite a difficult decision.

Would he be forced to choose a side? Would anyone know? Even more importantly, could he trust Lord Voldemort to honor the agreement and allow him to walk away unscathed?

Probably not.

"Okay," Harry muttered, doing his damnedest to keep the inner turmoil out of his expression. "I get a personal tutor while you get a mystical stone that gives you your body back; somehow, that doesn't seem quite fair, Voldemort. What else do you have for me?"

Lord Voldemort's eyebrows rose before a chuckle past from his lips. "What I've just offered you, Harry, my Death Eaters would kill for – "

"Your Death Eaters," Harry abruptly pointed out. "And they killed anyways. I'm not your follower, Voldemort, and I have no intention of becoming one. So pardon me if I ask for a bit more – a vow to neither infringe on my person or to harm me in any way for the duration of this…agreement would be a nice start."

Red eyes narrowed. "Done. I will not harm you – like I said, I have no intention of doing that –"

"And no one else can know," Harry intervened once more. "If we're to do this, I want no one else ever knowing it was I who brought you back."

"If you interrupt me again, you will regret it," Voldemort warned him lowly. A sharp brow perked suddenly. "You're quite the demanding little brat, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged, grinning boastfully. "I have all the leverage, don't I? Might as well milk it for all it's worth."

A chilling laugh rang out through the clearing as goose bumps made themselves known on Harry's skin. Voldemort swooped in quickly once more, an arm draping itself around Harry's suddenly tensed shoulders.

"Leverage," Voldemort grinned savagely. "Leverage, you say? Harry Potter – what leverage do you have now?"

"Wha-"

" _Avada Kedavra_."

Harry's heart fluttered as he felt the air around him displace and green light burst forth from the end of Voldemort's wand. Harry shuddered at the closeness of the spell as it made him feel sick. His eyes, however, widened as they tracked the spell. It sizzled through the air, passing like a bolt of lightning through the Deltas drawn from Harry's ritual, over the charred husk that was once Tuscas –

Right at the sprawled body of Ron Weasley.

The green light lifted the body from the leaves surrounding the boy, rolling the weight along the

"Y…y-you killed him," Harry cried, physically shaken. That spell, the Killing Curse…holy shit.

"Whoops," Voldemort uttered jeeringly. "Well, there goes that leverage, eh, Harry?"

Harry looked up into the satisfied face of a man that scared him. He shook of the arm from his shoulders, stepping quickly out of the man's reach to his left.

"Why would you do that?" Harry demanded. "Why kill him when he had nothing to do with this?"

"Who said I killed him?" Lord Voldemort laughed. "Did the boy twitch? How do you even know he was alive when I cast the curse? For all we know, you killed him, Harry.

"And now I grant you another offer on top of everything else: my knowledge, my protection, your wellbeing for the duration of the agreement – and now my help in covering up your…escapades in this clearing, including the body of Ronald Weasley."

"I can clean up the situation myself, thanks," Harry scowled scornfully.

"Can you?"

Voldemort's wand was pointing at him once more as Harry felt the air leave his lungs. Surely the man wouldn't…

"W-what an u-u-utter t-trav-travesty it would be," Voldemort stuttered gleefully, acting like the incompetent man he was possessing. "A b-boy as-assaulted in the F-f-for-forbidden Forest by a c-c-classmate – k-killed by a friend.

"You'd be locked up," Voldemort murmured, his red eyes showing no remorse as he stepped closer to Harry. "Shipped off to Azkaban before you could say 'Quidditch.' Is that really what you want, Harry Potter? Allow me to help you. Help yourself. Aid me in my quest. I will reward you like no others have ever been gifted. I could hand you anything and everything you desire. You are a remarkably bright boy; use that brain."

Harry's mind froze over as the seriousness of the situation settled before him; Ron was dead – either by his hand or Voldemort's. Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Wizard of the century had sought him out, promising gifts in return for his acquiescence – "graciously" forgiving him of his past transgressions. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. That was probably not a good thing to do with Voldemort leering at him like that.

No one would know, right? If his safety was guaranteed, what could it _really_ hurt?

' _Hundreds upon thousands of people_ ,' Harry mentally sighed. But half of them would be muggles, right? Who cared about them?

Wait – what was Voldemort even striving to accomplish?

"What was the last war like?" Harry found himself asking. "Why did you start it? What do you want to accomplish?"

Voldemort nodded approvingly. "Very good questions. The last war – well, let me backtrack – I started collecting followers whilst I was a schoolboy at Hogwarts. They all desired my approval, my _friendship,_ and were willing to do my bidding to receive these gifts.

Ultimately, I came to the realization in my second year that I would have the opportunity to change the Wizarding World with my actions. Older students flocked to me, hoping to 'help' the young prodigy on his way to greatness. Girls wanted to date me, boys wanted to befriend me – everyone wanted a piece of molding the greatest wizard to ever pass through Hogwarts.

I poured my beliefs out to these people, Harry. They anointed me their leader. In Slytherin, the purebloods hoped for a wizard that would repeal many of the modern laws passed by the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic. Fortunately, Harry…I dream bigger than that."

Voldemort had begun pacing again and Harry hung on the man's every word. This…was not what he had expected.

Voldemort looked at Harry through hooded lids.

"I was born in the year 1926, Harry Potter. I grew up in the muggle world, watching them devolve into primates as they threw around their explosives, killing millions and millions.

"It was chaos, the World Wars," Voldemort continued softly. "I bore witness to what muggles were capable of. Mass murders without a thought. They kill out of fear and anger. If they were to discover us, Harry, a superior race living amongst them, how long would we last?"

Harry found himself nodding as Voldemort approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Red eyes met green, and no emotions disrupted the connection

"Magic is everything to me, Harry. Magic is why I exist – it is why I still live to this day. It is my culture, my religion, my past, present, and future. I will do _whatever_ is necessary to protect it. All of it.

"In the past century - not only in Britain, but in countries around the world - wizarding laws restricting interaction with muggles have become much more lax. We now pander to the muggleborns and the half-bloods, trying to incorporate their muggle relatives so that they may live vicariously through their children in our World. That is…unbelievably foolish.

"Throw into that that our British Ministry of Magic is incompetent, hypocritical, and all around _corrupt_ – and imagine that, a Dark Lord calling politicians corrupt. It is about damn time someone did something about it."

Harry's eyes were wide and Voldemort spoke much more passionately.

"The 'victors' write history, Harry. When you 'defeated' me as an infant, the victorious side labeled me as a terrorist, a ruthless serial killer. I am neither of those things. I command respect. I wield magics of the most varied nature. I exemplify what we can become, and so do you, Harry! We have grown despite the pestilent environment that was our childhood. We have both seen what deplorable creatures the muggles are! We can do better – you and I! – we can give the witches and wizards of our country, our world, better lives! No longer will we hide in the shadows – this world is ours, and I intend to take it back!"

Mere inches separated them. Harry's breath came out in short pants that puffed fog into the air. Voldemort stood silently, leaning down and ruthlessly refused to look away.

"We can rule, Harry," Voldemort whispered. "We can be kings – gods, even – we can live forever. We can do _better_. All you have to do is follow me."

"We can do better," Harry whispered dazedly. He looked down at the hand outstretched, almost touching his chest.

_We can be kings – gods, even…_

Harry coughed and looked away.

"So…," He muttered, toeing at the dirt under his foot. "Back to this deal of yours. My body to host…you. You want the Philosopher's Stone and in return you will grant me your knowledge and tutor me in whatever I choose. You will promise me my health and your protection for the duration of our agreement as well as helping me clear up this lot," Harry waved vacantly to his ritual site and the body of Ron Weasley. "What do you plan to do about that, anyway?"

" _Avada Kedavra_."

Harry jumped forcefully, looking up as that unpleasant sensation of the Killing Curse being cast near him crept back into his body. Voldemort stood several paces back, pointing his wand overhead.

"Jesus Christ, Voldemort, that scared the shit out of me," Harry gasped.

Voldemort smirked in response. "Quirinus Quirrell, mentally unstable as he is, completely snapped. He kidnapped and murdered a student before committing suicide. The Wizarding World will roar in outrage, Albus Dumbledore will face an inquiry, and you will get off Scott free."

"Do we have a deal?" Voldemort smiled lazily.

"How will you…er – you know, split from Quirrell?" Harry winced.

A chilling grin formed on Voldemort's face. "Like this."

A dark hazy mist drifted out of the back of Quirinus Quirrell's turban and red eyes turned back to their original pale color. Suddenly, Quirrell started screaming in agony as tears fell. The black haze laughed with an eerie echo as Quirrell regained control of his body.

"H-Harry P-Potter," The man wept feebly. "P-Please help m-me. My insides – the hu-hurt…AHHHHHHHH!"

Harry watched in horror as the man slumped over and fell with a dull thud and his wand sparked before dying out.

"Okay," Harry stated, shaken by the ordeal. "You have to promise a less…lethal split form me than that as well."

The mist laughed again echoing through the forest. "Of course, Harry. Do we have a deal?"

Harry resented his emotions – they were driving him wild! Fear. Anxiety. Worry. Awe. Hope Motivation. If they would all simply stop for a second, maybe he could process what was happening.

Actually, he knew all too well what was happening. He was going to be the cause that started another war. At least it would be interesting.

"S-so how is this going to work?" Harry asked, his heart thumping in his chest wildly. The mist floated in front of him and Harry could have sworn he could make out two red eyes floating faintly in the mist.

"Just close your eyes, Harry, and leave the rest to me," Voldemort responded. Harry nodded, letting his eyes relax. Just before his eyelids shut, the black mist rushed forward rapidly, heading straight for him.

A sensation similar to being doused with cold water spread through his body, running up and down his limbs before settling in the back of his skull. Harry grit his teeth and scrunched his eyes closed, trying to fight off the dizziness that had settled over him.

The ground was moving underneath him as _something_ was happening in the back of his head. Harry staggered heavily, letting out a quick exhale. His senses failed him for a moment, and the next he knew, his cheek was resting in the dirt as Voldemort muttered words of encouragement in the back of his mind.

' _I've got you now. Relax – I'll handle everything. You will never regret this decision, Harry_.'

' _I'd better not_ ,' Harry countered before consciousness slipped from his grasp.


	15. The Perspective is Switching

Harry slithered through the decaying leaves, his body straining to continue on. The snake he was possessing was slowly losing its life, unable to contain his soul any longer. Anger and frustration bubbled within him; how was he supposed to reach the end of this bloody forest if no animals could safely host his soul?

Despite these countless setbacks, the trees were indeed growing sparse. Hopefully, a town was near whatever damn forest this was.

Harry had spent nearly an entire decade in this form: weak, brittle, and unable to sustain a physical form for any significant period of time. He had fled from his native British Isles in hope of finding a solution for this dilemma on the continent. So far, however, his weakened form prevented him from any permanent resolutions.

After all this time, though, hope was blooming within him. Only recently, Harry had regained enough strength to force himself on small animals. With a physical body in his grasp, perhaps after all this time, his search would be a success.

A steady rustle ahead of him stopped his progress. Harry flicked his tongue out, smelling the presence of a man. The realization leapt upon him like fire, and his mind only processed what that could mean for him – freedom.

"Dark Lord Voldemort? Are you here?" A reedy young man was calling out foolishly. A flick of his tongue detected small deviations in body temperature in the man; perhaps he was eager? Nervous? A sadistic happiness flooded Harry. The man should be terrified; he had certainly found Lord Voldemort. Now, the man would help him in his search, whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

' _Do you not understand_?' Lord Voldemort softly intoned. _'I, Quirinus, am all powerful. I cannot be stopped - not by the likes of a pathetic excuse of a wizard like you, or by a wizard like Dumbledore. Would you like proof of my power? You did not think I would not notice you trying to reach out to Harry Potter, did you? How is an eleven year old boy supposed to save you?_ '

Quirrell grimaced horribly, unable to hold back a strangled, keening sound. _'He has beaten you once before. He can do it again. He will save me, I am sure of it!_ '

' _Ah_ ,' Lord Voldemort replied teasingly. _'And why should he want to? He is but a boy. Why should he have to do a man's work when said man cannot do it himself?_ '

' _Because he beat you once before!_ ' Quirrell protested, nearly in tears. _'You cannot kill him! He's the Boy-Who-Lived!_ '

' _Yes, you've said as much_ ,' Lord Voldemort drawled. _'But he was only a baby at the time. Why would he fight me now when he could join me instead?_ '

' _Because you are a monster!_ ' Quirrell gasped, his stomach wrenching painfully. _'He would never join a monster like you!_ '

* * *

Harry glided up the winding staircase, stopping briefly to brush away the snow that adorned his shoulders. Pale white knuckles rapped quietly on the door in front of him, receiving a soft "Enter." for their trouble.

Those very same knuckles flicked outwards and the door opened slowly, revealing a long haired, wire-rimmed wizard with his hands folded easily atop his desk.

"Good evening, Tom," Albus Dumbledore spoke lightly. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Harry said softly, slowly taking his place in the cushioned chair to which his old professor had gestured.

"I heard that you had become headmaster – a worthy choice."

Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as a benign smile adorned his features. "I'm glad you approve. May I offer you a drink?"

Harry dipped his chin slightly. "That would be welcome," He said. "I have come a long way."

Harry watched with bloodshot eyes as Headmaster Dumbledore stood with the grace he had come to expect from his old Transfiguration instructor. Dumbledore strode to and opened a cabinet occupied with liquor bottles. In a matter of moments, Harry was holding a goblet of wine and Dumbledore was seated once more.

"So, Tom…to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Ah, what a loaded question. Harry sipped politely at his wine for a moment as he ordered his thoughts.

"They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," He decided on addressing first. "These days, I am known as – "

"I know what you are known as," Headmaster Dumbledore smiled. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be known as Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

Anger frothed inside of Harry, though he kept such feelings out of his expression. Had he asked for anything unreasonable of Albus Dumbledore? He had only asked to be called by his proper name – and that is what it was, truly; the alias 'Tom Riddle' left something to be desired.

"I am surprised you have remained here so long," Harry said chillingly, staring crookedly into the eyes of his former teacher. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

Headmaster Dumbledore was patronizing him once more, still smiling that dratted smile. "Well, to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching, too."

"I see it still," Harry corrected him. "I merely wondered why you – who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister – "

Three times, at the last count, actually," Albus Dumbledore said. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Harry inclined his head, acknowledging that fact before taking another sip from his goblet. He could care less for politics or the greed that most in the profession shared. There were more…potent forms of power.

Headmaster Dumbledore inspected the fingernails of his left hand before smiling once more at him. It seemed that he would be the one to break the silence.

"I have…returned – later perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected," Harry murmured. "But I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think that you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."

Harry leaned back slightly at the end of his diatribe to take in Dumbledore's expression. The elder wizard's right eye was narrowed slightly and his gaze sharp and calculating. That was fine – something to be admired, even. But Harry was not nervous. He was here for the reasons he had stated.

Well - amongst others.

"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," said Dumbledore, a bit tiredly if Harry was hearing correctly. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Harry's brow twitched minutely at Dumbledore's admonishment.

"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

The blue eyes staring back at him swam with pity. "You call it 'greatness,' what you have been doing, do you?" asked Dumbledore delicately.

Harry resisted the urge to scoff. "Certainly," he said. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed –"

"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore interrupted him quietly. "Of some. Of others, you remain…forgive me…woefully ignorant."

Harry smiled a lecherous leer. Oh, he knew what he must look like – a monster with pale, inhuman features – but if Dumbledore only knew. If he only _knew_.

Dumbledore was too ignorant to even be classified as such.

"An old argument," Harry uttered softly as he glanced down at his goblet. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncement that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."

Albus Dumbledore made a small noise of disagreement. "Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," He suggested.

Harry smiled once more. "Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?" He asked. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

A lie – for Lord Voldemort would _never_ be commanded – but surely Dumbledore could see his offer for what it was: a truce of sorts, despite their differences, to help the Wizarding World of Great Britain to achieve its ultimate destiny.

If _not_ …well, his plans would continue forward.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose skeptically and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This man was uncompromising to a fault.

"And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves – or so rumor has it – the Death Eaters?"

Harry's features tightened with seething rage; he had not expected his old teacher to be privy of such information, but he now saw that that expectation was foolish. Dumbledore trusted him even less now than when he was a schoolboy.

"My friends," He uttered slowly. "Will be fine without me, I am sure."

And they would be. He was their master – they would wait. He possessed all the time in the world, after all.

Dumbledore nodded deeply at his words. "I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," He said. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

' _They are simply aware of their place in this world_ ,' Harry raged inwardly. "You are mistaken."

"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them – Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov – awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you good luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."

Harry sneered poisonously. As always, Dumbledore was using factual information to reach the wrong conclusion.

"You are as omniscient as ever, Dumbledore," He mocked.

"Oh no," Dumbledore dismissed lightly. "Merely friendly with the local barmen Now, Tom…"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers atop a modest amount of paperwork, looking every bit the Headmaster that he was. Harry's blood curled at the sight.

"Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know that you do not want?"

' _You presume to know my heart, Dumbledore_?' Harry thought contemptuously. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you are eighteen," Dumbledore countered. "What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"

Harry sneered at the old man's audacity. His request so far was as open as he would ever be with this man. "If you do not want to give me a job –"

"Of course I don't," Dumbledore said neutrally. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have a purpose."

Harry stood quickly as anger threatened to overtake him. "This is your final word?"

Dumbledore stood slowly to match him. "It is."

Harry turned on the dime and strode for the door. "Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

"No, nothing," The sadness and pity in that old voice nearly had Harry spinning around with rage. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom…I wish I could…"

Harry did spin with the end of Dumbledore's spiel, his right hand itching to prove to the man in front of him that such 'repayment' was inconsequential. Instead, he exited the door swiftly, allowing the man to seal his own fate.

* * *

"Lily! It's him…."

Lights and sounds invaded his senses. A crash echoed from downstairs, and quick footsteps reverberated through the open door.

Harry blinked and tried to process what was happening.

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside now!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead – "

"I have no problems killing you both if I have to! This is your last warning, girl - stand aside!"

"Not Harry! Please, have mercy…have mercy…"

Laughter rang out through the room, louder than any of the woman's sobs.

"My mercy seems to have run dry tonight. _Avada Kedavra_."

Green light shone brightly, removing all the shadows from the room. Harry looked up blearily to see red hair, twirling and falling and dull, green eyes meeting his own. The light faded, but Harry was awake now. He was awake and intensely aware of his surroundings.

' _Not Harry_!'

"Wasteful woman," The voice above him spat out distastefully. The pale man looked down at him. "I gave her a choice, did I not?"

Harry looked up and moved slightly, his small hand enclosing on the plushy dragon near the head of his crib – a dragon his father had presented to him with a joyful grin not too long ago.

"Your mother was foolish – same as your father. But they were brave, I'll give them that."

A wand was soon pointing down at him, only inches away from his forehead. Harry looked into the red eyes that stared back down at him. The eyes betrayed no emotion, and the voice was unnaturally neutral.

"I do not normally act in such a manner, but I cannot take any chances, boy. If you have the ability to defeat me, I must act."

Pale features hardened as if the chill of fall had descended upon them.

"I…regret that this is the way it must be. Magical power is precious. May you find peace in your after-life. Goodbye."

Green eyes. Red eyes. Green. Red. _Green_ everywhere.

Pain.

* * *

"Harry, wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes with a jolt, the dark green of his four poster bed greeting him much more warmly than the loud voice from outside his bed. The green surrounding him appeared hazy and his brain swam before adjusting, his vision sharp and clear.

Harry grinned. He grinned, that is, until he tried to sit up.

"Fuck! My back!" Harry groaned into his left fist, his right arm going to support his lower back. He had very little time to stretch and work out the kinks, as Draco Malfoy ripped open the curtains of his four-poster, beaming eagerly at his friend.

"You up yet?" Draco gushed. "Professor Snape wants all of the Slytherins in the Common Room in five minutes. Apparently something huge happened last night."

Harry glared hotly at Draco, but it went unnoticed in the boy's enthusiasm. Instead, Harry winced at the violent crackling of his spine as his heels met the carpeted floor of his dorm room. Standing, Harry became painfully aware that it wasn't just his back that was causing him trouble; his knees, ankles, hips – basically all of his joints – throbbed with soreness.

"What do you think this is all about?" Blaise mumbled, in a similar state to Harry.

Draco shrugged carelessly. "Some students were out past curfew last night and vandalized some stuff, I'd wager. What else could get Snape this upset?"

"Don't care," Vincent Crabbe growled from his own four-poster. "Must sleep."

"You okay, Harry?" Theo called from across the room, tying his nightgown around his waist. Harry only grimaced in return as he looked for his own nightgown.

"What time is it?" Harry asked gruffly. The soreness of his body had quickly soured his mood. On top of that, he couldn't be arsed to care about anything this bloody early in the morning. What happened that couldn't wait a couple of hours?

"Quarter past four," Draco practically chirped. Harry met the boy with an incredulous stare.

"You taking the piss?" said Harry.

Draco shook his head with a grin. "Not at all – c'mon, I want to go see what all this fuss is about."

Harry shook his head slowly before leaning to one side, stretching the muscles of his abdomen. He went to follow the other boys out into the Common Room, but a voice he wouldn't forget stopped him in his tracks:

' _Quite interesting dreams you have, Harry_.'

His right arm flinched violently, reaching up to grasp at his forehead. The voice was not one he had…heard, precisely, but his brain seemed to have processed it as such. Where had it come from?

"Harry, seriously, let's go," Draco said, a bit of petulance coloring his voice. Theo was looking at him from the threshold in concern.

Harry swept out the door and Theo shut the door behind him, unaware of what was transpiring inside Harry's mind.

' _Voldemort_!'

' _Morning, sunshine_.'

Harry took a breath much deeper than he had anticipated as the events of the previous night crashed upon him like a tidal wave. The ritual, the centaur, Lord Voldemort… _Ron_.

God, his knees hurt. Was that the ritual?

' _Forgot me already, have you? I'm insulted…have you recalled what happened yesterday evening?_ '

' _Yeah – all of that just hit me_ ,' Harry found himself thinking. Apparently that was all it took to get a response from Voldemort.

' _Excellent. No regrets, I hope?_ '

Harry shook his head marginally – it was a jerky motion, and Harry wanted to kick himself for physically responding to a…mental question.

' _What happened after I, er, fell asleep?_ '

Harry could hear – well, not hear, exactly, but sense – a trace of amusement in Voldemort's disembodied reply.

' _I took care of things: wiped clean all the evidence of your ritual, positioned the bodies of Ronald Weasley and Quirinus Quirrell in a place that they would be found, and got you tucked away safely into your own bed – aren't I nice?_ '

Harry ignored the sugar-sweet sarcasm at the end of Voldemort's statement in favor of evaluating the situation – you know, the situation of having a dead classmate and a fucking Dark Lord sharing your body.

Harry stalled slightly before answering as he followed the other Slytherin boys up into the Common Room. The room was crowded and completely dark save the fire crackling in the hearth.

'… _So what now? How is this going to work, exactly? What are you capable of doing to me and what do I need to do to benefit from our…association?_ '

Voldemort was silent for a moment longer, answering just as Harry crossed the threshold and into the Common Room.

' _Now, we move forward. I have several things that I'd like to accomplish before obtaining the Philosopher's Stone and I'm sure you have your own aspirations. We shall accomplish them together. I cannot read your mind – our minds are still separate – so please feel at home within your own body_.'

Harry bit back a small grin despite his nervousness. Dry humor from the Dark Lord. Who would have thought it?

' _As long as you do not oppose me, per our agreement, you can expect no negative consequences. If you have any questions or anything you wish to learn about…I am here_.'

' _Wait a minute – didn't you say Quirrell was fighting you?_ ' Harry questioned suddenly, ignoring the thrill of having an instructor for a moment. ' _Don't you need to, I dunno, rest or something?_ '

A dark chuckle echoed through his own ears. ' _If you were anyone else, I would…but I happened upon a most pleasant surprise when entering your body_.'

Harry's brow furrowed. ' _Care to share with the class, Voldemort?_ '

' _Not at all_.'

Harry grunted as the chuckle within his mind heightened into full-blown laughter.

' _You're going to tutor me on some Dark spells that I've happened upon later_.'

' _I eagerly await the opportunity. Hopefully, you are worth my time._ '

' _Fuck you_.'

Voldemort laughed once more, though the laughter was much more pleasant, as if he were genuinely amused.

"Silence," Professor Snape drawled unnecessarily, sweeping into the Common Room as if it were not four in the bloody morning. "I require everyone's undivided attention – including yours, Mr. Flint."

Harry looked over, following the direction of Professor Snape's gaze to see Marcus Flint slouched back in a leather recliner by the hearth with his eyes closed. The boy scowled at the Professor, but straightened in his chair at the admonishment.

"I apologize for the time of this meeting, but due to an immediate emergency, this House meeting is necessary. Last night, both a student and Professor were found dead in a vacant classroom on the second floor of the castle. At this time, we have no information on the cause of death of the two individuals, but a Ministry-sponsored investigation will commence after dawn. As a result, the Headmaster has decided to close the school for an indefinite amount of time until this situation is resolved. Your guardians have all been notified and the Hogwarts Express will be taking you all to Kings Cross after an early breakfast."

Harry tried not to tense – he was the only one in the school to know what had happened, after all - and Voldemort's quiet laughter was not helping his case. The reaction from his fellow Slytherins, however, intrigued him.

The room was silent, save the popping sounds of the fire. Most of the Slytherins seemed to be looking around to see if anyone was missing, a reaction that Harry had not expected. He had expected unrestrained exclamations and instant questions.

Ah – there we go.

"Professor," a curly brown haired fifth year girl with an awful case of bed-head asked. "Who died? It wasn't a Slytherin, was it?"

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes, silently rebuking the girl for speaking out of turn. "Professor Quirrell lost his life last night, Ms. McClellan, as well as Ronald Weasley, a first year Gryffindor."

"Did someone kill them?"

A Snapish glare quelled that question. "Let me reiterate – a Ministry investigation is commence in mere hours. As of now, the Headmaster does not wish to reveal any information. Breakfast shall be served in the Great Hall in a half hour; I recommend that you all take the time to make yourselves suitable for the journey back home. The house elves will care for your belongings – Mr. Potter, will you please join me in my office for a moment?"

Harry snapped out of his daze to see Snape's black eyes upon him.

"What does Professor Snape want?" Draco asked softly, nudging Harry in his midsection.

Harry shrugged, shaking his head slightly as noise started to break out amongst his housemates. "I reckon I won't know until I speak to him, will I?"

' _It's no mystery, I assure you_ ,' Voldemort drawled with a polite snort – as much as that made sense, in Harry's head. ' _Severus was aware of my presence in Quirrell's body as well as my interest in you_.'

' _Interest_?' Harry scoffed. ' _Makes you sound like a right pervert, doesn't it?_ '

Voldemort chuckled darkly as Harry made his way through the Slytherin crowd to follow Professor Snape to his office. ' _Everything about me could be considered 'perverted,' Harry, from my morals to my career choice._ '

' _Oh, so that's what being a Dark Lord's like, huh? Seems like it would be more fun than that._ '

' _Dealing with imbeciles all day and eleven year old brats that strip my soul from my body make it more of a job than it could be_ ,' Voldemort replied dryly.

Harry ducked his head to hide a smirk. Professor Snape had turned without uttering a word and was now leading him down the corridor to his office.

'So how do we handle this?' Harry questioned lightly. If Snape was going to be asking questions about Voldemort – well, he ought to include the man in question, right? Snape _was_ his…servant.

' _By all means, Harry, handle this however you wish,_ ' Voldemort replied with amusement. ' _If I wanted to make myself known to Severus, it would be ever too easy._ '

' _Planning to possess me, then?_ ' Harry could hear the sharp bite to his words, even in his own head. ' _Because let me tell you right now, that's a stupid plan_.'

Voldemort's tone grew much frostier. ' _I have many more options available to me than that, boy. And if I chose to go that route, you would not have much say in the matter._ '

Harry bit back a retort; Professor Snape had stopped suddenly in front of him with his wand brandished, unlocking the door to his office.

"Please enter, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said, not bothering to hold the door open for him.

Harry ducked in quickly, rolling the growing stiffness out of his neck and shoulders before settling himself into a sturdy wooden chair. The usually dark office was even darker this early in the morning. Snape lit a couple of candles on his desk with his wand, but the lighting it provided was wholly insignificant.

Professor Snape pulled out a parchment scroll from his desk drawer and held it out to the candlelight, his large, hooked nose nearly pressing into the parchment as he surveyed the ink.

"Your latest essay," Professor Snape stated slowly. "Another 'outstanding.'"

The professor did not look happy about that fact, but Harry took the parchment back without a word. Harry could feel the man's eyes on him, but he remained patient; Snape wanted him here for something, after all.

"The Headmaster wanted me to collect you, but before you take my floo up to Professor Dumbledore's office, I would like to ask you a question, Mr. Potter."

Harry met the Potions Professor's gaze with a slight raise of his eyebrows – certainly not an impolite expression, but one of vague curiosity. The man's eyes were not hostile, but they held a seriousness that kept Harry quiet.

"Do you realize," Professor Snape started lowly. "That the last known whereabouts of Ronald Weasley were in the Great Hall, where the two of you were fighting like children?"

"Are you accusing me of do-"

"I know a Killing Curse when I see one, Potter," Professor Snape replied sharply. "And I realize that Professor Quirrell met a similar fate. But no, I am not accusing a first year child of such acts, you buffoon; I want to know what the two of you were arguing over."

Harry hid his puzzlement over Quirrell's "similar fate" as Voldemort made his amusement clear. "We were arguing over Quidditch, sadly enough – or, at least, we were at first. Ron insulted Draco several times and then raised his wand at us. I'd had enough when he did that."

Professor Snape nodded slowly, but pressed on. "And what about Quidditch would cause wands to be drawn?"

"Well, I'm Slytherin's new seeker," Harry admitted. "And word had gotten out. Ron thought that was a right laugh and Draco defended me. It was…petty, but it was dealt with."

Professor Snape straightened, leaning away from the candles on his desk. "Who put you on the Quidditch team, Potter, and why was I not aware of this?"

Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing. Boy, that was ironic. "Well, Sykes made the decision to put me on the Quidditch team yesterday afternoon – despite my not having a broom or anything. I guess he was planning to tell you today if not for the 'two people are dead' situation."

Harry couldn't see it, but it sounded like Professor Snape had snorted. "Alright, Potter. The Headmaster wants to see you before you return home. I am assuming that you do not plan to go back to your orphanage?"

"Of course not," Harry said scathingly. He had not even thought about that, but _of course_ he was not going back. "Hopefully Lucius would be willing to have me over – he said so before school started."

"Very well, very well," Snape stood. "Keep me up to date of your whereabouts. I need to be able to reach you when school resumes, after all."

Harry nodded, tentatively scooting his chair back as Snape lit the hearth in his office. Seriously, why hadn't he done that before? Professor Snape held his floo powder out to Harry, but a skeptical expression crossed his face.

"You plan to meet with the Headmaster – the person you've asked to mentor you - in a nightgown?" Professor Snape drawled.

Harry only avoided rolling his eyes because a yawn happened first. "It's not like I had a chance to change, Professor. We all just rolled out of bed, after all."

"…Clearly," Professor Snape spoke critically as he eyed Harry's hair. "And I thought your hair could look no worse."

Bastard. "So how did you know that I asked Professor Dumbledore to teach me?" Harry asked, scooping up a handful of floo powder.

Professor Snape made a harrumphing sound in the back of his throat. "I am your Head of House, Potter; did you think that he would keep me in the dark of your pursuits?"

Harry stepped into the grate before, smiling sleepily as the green flames licked warmly at his legs. "Of course not, Professor. I just did not know how you Professors like to pass around information."

Harry rubbed his left arm before looking up. "Don't worry too much about it, though; I've found someone who's willing to help me out."

Professor Snape's eyebrows rose. "And who might that be?"

Harry couldn't stop the grin that met his face. "Oh, you know him. Headmaster's Office!"

* * *

" – doesn't explain how something like this could happen, Albus! Let alone what the media will think of it! They'll be demanding our heads for this!"

Harry stumbled slightly as he stepped into the Headmaster's office, which seemed to be the site of a tense verbal debate. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix looked up at him before tucking its head back underneath a wing.

Professor Snape's contempt for Harry's state of dress seemed unjustified, he thought, as he eyed the attire of Professor Dumbledore and his guest. Professor Dumbledore was wearing the robe he had worn at dinner the previous evening and it was severely rumpled. The Headmaster's guest, however, was a stout little wizard who wore pajamas with small hearts adorning them underneath a long black cloak, clasped clumsily under his neck. A lime-green bowler hat was tipped awkwardly on cow-licked grey hair and Harry noticed faint bags under the man's brown eyes.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore smiled, seemingly relieved to be rid of the other man's whining for a few seconds.

"Harry Potter?" The other man squawked, his head turning quickly back to Harry as he moved to stand. "Cornelius Oswald Fudge, your Minister of Magic – so very pleased to meet you, Harry."

Harry shook the man's hand and forced a smile. "Nice to meet you too, Minister. Morning, Headmaster."

'Lovely little meeting here that I get to eavesdrop on,' Voldemort said drawled with amusement. 'It always is nice to see the fruits of one's work.'

Harry let out a quick exhale as Professor Dumbledore nodded to one of the chairs across from his desk, shaking his head slightly at Voldemort's words. Minister Fudge placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him to the chair before settling into the one next to him. Fudge's frustration seemed to be quelled now, Harry thought. Was he the cause of that?

"Well, Harry, how have your classes been this week?" Professor Dumbledore asked pleasantly, taking a small sip from the saucer on his desk. "Not too much trouble from Professor Snape, I hope?"

Harry shook his head, noticing Fudge's interest in his answer. "No sir, Professor Snape has been fine. He handed back my essay a few minutes ago. I got an 'Outstanding' on it."

"Splendid!" Minister Fudge clapped. "It's always nice to hear about children doing exceptional work in their studies! Do you have any plans for your future, Harry?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the Minister's…enthusiasm as he ignored Voldemort's laughter. Harry looked briefly at Professor Dumbledore to see an amused expression as well before answering: "I have not decided on anything, sir, but I'll be sure to let you know when I do."

"I am sure that you will be excellent, whenever you decide," Minister Fudge beamed, tipping his bowler hat slightly before directing his attention to Professor Dumbledore.

"Albus, are you sure that you have no information – "

"Cornelius, please," Professor Dumbledore intervened, raising a hand to stall the Minister of Magic. "This is not a conversation to be held in the presence of a student. I have informed you of everything that I am aware; you will have to bring in your Aurors and I will grant the media entrance into the castle once all the students are safely away on the train. Now, Harry, I asked for you to be brought up here to see if there is anything you might know – anything at all – of either Ronald Weasley's or Professor Quirrell's disappearances last night."

Harry shook his head calmly, looking straight into Professor Dumbledore's blue, bespectacled eyes. "No, sir. Ron and I got into a bit of a fight at dinner last night over Quidditch, but that was the last I saw of him. Did – did they die together?"

' _Ah - nice touch_ ,' Voldemort praised.

' _I do try_.'

"There's still an investigation scheduled – I presume Professor Snape notified you of as much?" Harry nodded. "Very well, then. By the time you return to Hogwarts from your home, all of this will be resolved."

Harry stalled. The orphanage was _not_ his home. "I – er – I hadn't planned on going home, sir."

Professor Dumbledore steepled his fingers and tilted his head slightly. "Do you have some other place of residence in mind?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. I doubt that the school will be closed for long, but Lucius Malfoy has said in the past that I'm always welcome in their home. Hopefully he will be willing to have me."

"Oh, Lucius – a fine fellow, Harry," Minister Fudge winked. "I'm sure there will be no problems, there."

Harry smiled, but noticed the frown on Professor Dumbledore's face. It seemed that the Headmaster had a problem with it.

"I'll be writing Professor Snape over the break, however long it lasts," Harry added. There was no way he would let Professor Dumbledore prevent himself from going to the Malfoys'. Well, he still needed to tell Draco, but that could wait.

"Alright, then," Professor Dumbledore agreed, rubbing long fingers along the length of his beard. "As for your request? I should be available to begin once classes resume."

Harry straightened in his seat immediately. "Really? That's great!"

' _Not good enough for you, am I?_ ' Voldemort spat. Seriously, Harry thought, where had that come from?

' _Two instructors are better than one_ ,' Harry retorted. _'Why would I turn him down when he's willing to help me?_ '

"I look forward to it," Professor Dumbledore smiled. Minister Fudge was looking between them.

"Alright, then," Fudge coughed delicately. "I need to head off to the Ministry and get in touch with Amelia. We should be back out here after lunch. That's enough time to get the students out of here, I trust?"

Professor Dumbledore nodded once before moving to usher Minister Fudge to the fire. "Certainly. I will see you this afternoon, Cornelius."

"Wait, Albus!" Fudge cried, standing to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'd like to escort Harry here back to his dormitory. You don't mind, do you?"

Harry looked up at Professor Dumbledore with an expression that he hoped screamed, 'Sure, why not?' Dumbledore chuckled slightly. "Of course not. My office will be open to you when you return."

"Excellent! Shall we, Harry?"

Harry stood, working the stiffness back out of his limbs before letting the Minister lead him down Dumbledore's spiral staircase.

' _You've piqued his interest – or at least your name has_ ,' Voldemort revealed smugly. It seemed he was over whatever his problem had been. ' _Lucius, Dumbledore, and now Fudge all wanting to assist you. Your work is very impressive, Harry_.'

' _Oh, shut it. And don't forget that you're on that list as well,_ ' Harry retorted, forcing another smile on his face as Minister Fudge wrapped a hand around his arm. As much as Harry was annoyed by Voldemort's point, he was right, Harry thought as Minister Fudge eagerly spoke about his job. There were certainly worse things than having the Minister of Magic backing you.


	16. Lessons and Letters

_The Daily Prophet_

_Student, Professor dead at Hogwarts_

_By: Patrick Fairview_

_Associate Editor_

_Two bodies were found on the grounds Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Thursday morning, located inside the castle. As a result, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has issued an immediate closing of the school._

_The bodies of Quirinus Quirrell, 42, and Ronald Weasley, 11, were retrieved from a vacated classroom early Thursday morning, according to the Auror affidavit. The cause of death of the two individuals is currently unknown._

" _It is with great regret that we announce the passing of Quirinus H. Quirrell and Ronald B. Weasley on this morning of Thursday, October 24," Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones said via press release. "At the present time, Aurors are investigating the scene under Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge's orders. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, paired with the Department of Magical Residue and Investigation has nothing to report at this time."_

_Quirrell, formerly a Muggles Studies Professor at Hogwarts, was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this semester._

" _Hogwarts will certainly be launching its own investigation once the Ministry has concluded with theirs, but today Hogwarts has lost two of its own children," Dumbledore said. "We must first grieve for those who have lost their lives. Quirinus and Ronald will be both missed terribly."_

_On account of the two deaths, Hogwarts will be closed for an indefinite amount of time. The last time Hogwarts experienced an emergency closing was in 1861 when a severe bout of Mumblewumps plagued the school. Treatment and vaccination for the disease was improved in 1873._

_The school escaped an emergency closing in the 1940's after the death of a student. A culprit was found in the case._

" _It's quite a scene out at Hogwarts, but the Ministry is working hard to resolve the issue," Minister Fudge said at the Ministry of Magic. "We are working quickly to resolve the issue and to secure the safety of the children at Hogwarts. My deepest sympathies go out to Arthur Weasley."_

Harry let the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ fall from his fingertips, yawning widely as he rumpled his hair. An owl had flown into his room – his marvelous, deep blue room with the most luxurious bed he'd ever seen, let alone slept in – to deliver him his newspaper. God bless Lucius Malfoy for allowing him into his home.

At the moment, Harry was in said luxurious bed and had propped himself up to read a bit of the _Prophet_.

Looking around the room, Harry took in his surroundings with sharpening clarity. His vision was rapidly improving since his last ritual and that fact pleased him to no end.

But more than anything, this – waking up peacefully in a vast sea of pillows and comfort to a room that was soothing and silent – was completely foreign to him. It was foreign, but also a most welcome change. In the orphanage, clumsy feet would rumble down the hallway. Bratty, whiny voices would put him in a foul state of mind before he could even roll out of bed. Hogwarts was much better, but it wasn't _this_.

God _bless_ Lucius Malfoy.

Sweeping his legs over the side of the lavish bedspread and shaking his head at the subtle sense of vertigo, Harry padded barefoot through the furry rug over to the large desk near his open window. The stiffness that had plagued his muscles the previous day was seemingly gone.

Five envelopes sat innocuously atop his desk, providing Harry with his first meaningful thought of the day. Apparently the owl that had delivered him his newspaper was not the only one to make a visit in the night.

The envelopes featured a variety of different types of parchment – from a crinkled, yellowing parchment with a narrow scrawl that had Harry instantly thinking Snape, to a prim, proper, evenly folded envelope tied up with a ribbon and featuring a Ministry seal. Harry sat down slowly, ignoring both envelopes in favor of the neat looking letter with a friend's handwriting on it:

_Hey, Harry!_

_I didn't get the chance to see you off before Hogwarts had whatever happened…happen. Pretty crazy, huh? Professor Sprout woke us all up, crying her eyes out, and told us what happened. I don't know what to say, do you? The poor Weasley's lost a brother and son, you know? It's pretty wild and sad and I don't know what to feel about it._

_I saw Fred and George on the train. They were sitting with their brother, Percy. The twins were quiet and kind of out of it. I went in there and sat between them for a bit. I didn't say anything, but they seemed a bit happier when I hugged them before leaving._

_Enough of that morbid stuff. How are you doing? I'm sure Snape told you guys about the deaths. I doubt he was sniffing back tears like Professor Sprout, was he?_

_I'm up to my neck in homework, of course, as I'm sure you are. My father wants to help but it seems a bit like cheating, don't you think? Very proud man, my father. He's a bit obsessive when it comes to me and my life, but I get it. Dad works at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Everything from dragons to goblins, you know? It's a pretty huge branch of the Ministry and he has a pretty thankless job – makes a good bit of gold, though. I guess he wants the best for me and I can't complain, can I?_

_Keep in touch, okay? If this break stretches on real long, we'll have to meet up somewhere._

_Your mate,_

_Cedric_

Harry smiled lazily. Mere months ago, the thought of having an actual friend was completely foreign to him. Now, he was receiving letters from a friend while being invited to stay at the house of another friend. How _weird_ was that?

' _My, what sentimental thoughts this morning, Harry. Would you like a tissue?_ '

Harry laughed softly despite the words. Voldemort's teasing tone helped to put him at ease.

' _Can you not understand where I'm coming from? I always wanted someone to give a damn, you know? I'm sure you can relate. It's not about trying to find love or anything; it's just about meeting quality people._ '

' _Like the Minister, perhaps?_ '

Harry found himself nodding. He and Voldemort had discussed everything from Minister Fudge to his dreams the previous night whilst riding the Hogwarts Express back to King's Cross. Harry had not been the most entertaining company for his fellow Slytherins, so he had simply feigned sleeping. It wasn't like anyone could blame him after waking up at four in the bloody morning.

Voldemort had given his take on the dreams – he had witnessed them, after all – and told Harry that several of the dreams were some of Voldemort's memories. Apparently Quirrell had seen similar dreams when he opened himself to Voldemort.

Surprisingly, Voldemort had been respectful of Harry's opinions and for that, Harry had tried to return the favor. The dream where Voldemort had asked Dumbledore for the Defense position had intrigued Harry to no end. The thoughts that had flittered through Voldemort's mind were still fresh on _his_ mind, and Harry had to hold back from asking too many questions.

Voldemort revealed that he had cursed the Defense position, though. And the fact that he could put such a long lasting curse on something as vague as a teaching position was pretty intimidating.

Seeing his mother die – hell, seeing her at all – was a bit of a shock. It also greatly increased his respect for her. Voldemort had said nothing more on the subject other than, "You heard what I said both before and after killing her. I can take none of it back."

Harry sighed as he reached for another letter. He still didn't know what to feel about it all. He certainly wasn't angry. Grief, maybe? He had never felt like that for anything. And she had been so beautiful…

_Potter,_

_Quidditch practice starts the week we get back to school. Our schedule has been rearranged and our first match against Gryffindor will happen in five weeks. Do you have a broom yet? I can't believe I have to ask that. If you fuck this up for Slytherin, I swear to you that you will regret the day that you were sorted into my house._

_Be ready or else,_

_Marcus Flint_

Aaaand there went Flint, ruining all of his self-evaluation. Bastard.

' _And who is this…marvelous character?_ '

Harry shook his head in disgust, rereading the short letter that was barely legible. ' _Marcus Flint. Sixth year who apparently failed three classes last year but was saved from repeating the year by his mediocre O.W.L. scores. More importantly, he's a guy on the Quidditch team who thinks he can intimidate me_.'

' _Can he?_ '

The words were said in a patronizing way that did not sit well with Harry. ' _Hell no_ ,' Harry fumed. ' _If he couldn't beat Sykes in the Dueling Pit, he certainly cannot beat me at…anything._ '

' _Then perhaps you should show him such when schooling resumes. But you've gotten your first taste of the Dueling Pit, you say?_ '

Harry made an affirmative humming noise. ' _Sykes, our seventh year Prefect, challenged Flint to the Dueling Pit. Flint was all power and no finesse. He was no match for a guy who can think as well as Sykes._ '

Voldemort made a sly noise that Harry couldn't quite place. ' _I'll have to keep my eyes open for this Sykes fellow if he's made that much of an impression on you_.'

' _He underestimates me as well – especially now with you teaching me_ ,' Harry added conversationally. ' _But I've still got letters I want to read, thanks_.'

' _I'm not stopping you, Harry_.'

Harry rolled his eyes at the amusement in Voldemort's voice, deciding to pick up Snape's letter before it scolded him for his hair or something:

_Mr. Potter,_

_Lucius has informed me that you are now comfortably assembled within his household, just as you professed before leaving my office yesterday morning. Now that you are there, I expect you to keep me informed of your whereabouts – if you go to Diagon Alley, I want to know. If you visit Gringotts, I wish to be included. If you leave Malfoy Manor for any reason, I wish to be informed, understood? Also, I trust that I do not need to warn you of the consequences of misbehavior._

_Do your homework. Regardless of your five consecutive 'Outstanding's' on the essays turned in in my classroom, you know very well that I hold my students to the highest standards of all the teachers at Hogwarts. Your class of Slytherins – with the unfortunate exception of a…select few – has shown more potential with a cauldron than I've seen in my decade here at Hogwarts. This can largely be attributed to you._

_Don't mess it up, Potter. There will be a quiz on the first day back. I'd call it a pop quiz, but I believe my reputation as a teacher proceeds me in such a way that such a statement is unnecessary._

_Your Head of House,_

_Severus Snape_

' _Snarky, bossy, every complement of the backhanded variety,'_ Harry ticked off mentally. _'Nothing new, there.'_

' _Severus in a nutshell, isn't it?'_

' _Yep,'_ Harry stated with false cheeriness. _'It's enough to make you want to pull your teeth out.'_

' _I have my ways of dealing with Severus,'_ Voldemort replied _. 'He doesn't take well to surprises. So if you'd like to give him a hard time, there's your ticket.'_

Harry found himself grinning. _'What surprises have you sprung on him? I suspect you speak from experience, right?'_

Voldemort laughed coldly – but that was really the only way he laughed, to be honest _. 'Of course. Since Severus does not respond well to things he cannot plan for, so what better way to reveal myself to him?'_

Harry felt a small amount of pity for his Potions Professor. _'Poor sod.'_

' _Quite. I enjoyed myself.'_

The fancy Ministry letter was the next that Harry picked up, cursing quietly as the ironed-flat parchment cut through the flesh of his left thumb. Harry pinched the digit between his teeth before shaking it out, ignoring Voldemort's snort of laughter in favor of reading the letter from…Cornelius Fudge.

_Dear Harry,_

_It was absolutely marvelous getting to meet you, my boy! Headmaster Dumbledore has mentioned to me in the past how well you are doing in class. It is wonderful to hear! You seem to be a very level headed boy, very clever, and considering your – ah – history, that is something to be quite proud of._

_The case here at Hogwarts is quite the thing. From what our investigative team of Aurors are saying, it seems that this might be a case of murder/suicide. Most tragic, is it not? Say, if you ever would like to meet a couple of Aurors – our crime fighters, in the Wizarding World, Dumbledore has also mentioned that you grew up away from our world – I could set that up quite easily. I realize that a career survey may be wasted on an eleven year old, but it's never too early to find something you love, I say!_

_I'm quite busy, of course – being the Minister, it comes with the job. However, it's a position I've cherished since my induction little over a year ago. The Wizarding World is in a grand place right now. The fall of You-Know-Who (brilliant job there, Harry!) has allowed the Wizarding World of Britain to prosper. So if there's anything I can do for you, Harry, how need not hesitate to ask!_

_Please send Lucius my fondest regards._

_Sincerely,_

_Cornelius O. Fudge_

_Minister of Magic_

' _This man is an idiot. Is my takeover of the Wizarding World of Britain going to be that easy?'_

Harry frowned. _'He's…eager, but I wouldn't call him an idiot.'_

Voldemort snorted derisively. _'This man just revealed classified information to an eleven year old, promised you 'anything,' and offered to show you around the Ministry. If you do not exploit this pathetic bastard for everything he's worth, I will be_ most _disappointed.'_

' _I already planned to,'_ Harry protested. _'But I don't want to insult the man or make outlandish demands. I want this guy on my side. He's the Minister of Magic! He holds the power of the Wizarding World until he steps down –'_

' _Until I remove it from his cold, dead hands,'_ countered Voldemort callously. _'I will not let such an idiot live in my Britain.'_

' _He had the wherewithal to become the Minister, didn't he?'_ Harry argued. _'That shows some serious ambition and craftiness. Perhaps the power has gone to his head?'_

'… _.Perhaps.'_

Why was he even defending the Minister? He had only met the man the previous day. Harry shook off the thought in favor of his final letter:

_Dear Harry,_

_Thanks for your letter, mate. Our family is going a bit bonkers at the moment. Our mum is inconsolable, sadly. We've tried to cheer her up, but she's never been fond of our brand of humor._

_Our sister is crying, of course, but we're not sure if she really gets what happened. Our brother died and even we don't know how to feel. He was a git, right? But he was our git, and we wish we could have protected him better. From whatever it was._

_That's scary, right? We don't even know yet what hurt our brother. Wizards don't just drop dead, especially at eleven years old. Couldn't the Professors have done something? Couldn't Dumbledore? He's supposed to be the strongest wizard of our age, is he not?_

_Our brother Bill's moved back to England for the time being to help mum and dad get the house back in order. He's a pretty cool guy. You'd like him._

_But seriously, mate, we're doing as well as we could be and we'll keep in touch. We'll see you soon._

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Fred and George (_ _the better twin_ _) (is not)_

Harry snickered slightly at the closing of the letter. It was good to see that the twins were doing okay – especially when he knew what had really happened to their brother. It wasn't as if Harry could reveal his part in it, could he? He had struck a tentative friendship with the two boys; their humor and easy-going natures were something Harry wanted around him. That was why he had sent a letter with portraying condolences.

But not his guilt. There wasn't any of that. Ronald Weasley wasn't worth it.

' _That's what I like to hear_.'

' _Guess you heard that, huh? I didn't exactly mean to communicate that to you_.'

Harry and Voldemort had discussed that as well on the Hogwarts Express – in a desire to keep his privacy, Harry had asked the - er, man – about how the possession affected them. According to Voldemort, their minds remained separate and only interacted with the conscious effort of the one wishing to communicate.

Yay to keeping private thoughts.

"Harry!"

Harry leaned back in his chair to look at the blond boy peeping his head into the room. Draco's normally well-kept hair was cow licked on the left side and the blond locks draped the side of his face.

Harry waved lazily before running a hand through his hair. "Morning, Draco. I got a few letters last night."

"You done reading them?" asked Draco. "Mother and father won't let me eat until you get to the dining room. C'mon! I'm starving."

Harry shook his head in exasperation as he stood. "Do I need to change or anything?"

Draco shook his head vigorously. "Pajamas are fine. This is our home, remember? Father's even in his nightgown."

"Our?" Harry questioned, a teasing smile on his face that masked the true emotion he felt at the word. "Since when am I family, Draco?"

"Since I met you," countered Draco. "So let's go!"

Harry grinned broadly. "Sounds good. I'm a bit famished, myself."

* * *

"Master Draco, sir, Master Lucius sent Agares to bring you and your guest to the entrance hall."

Harry looked up from the book he was reading in Draco's room to see a pale, pointy-looking house elf wearing a gaudy green cloth around its waist. The elf stood before his friend with its reedy arms clasped behind its back. Draco sighed dramatically before making a shooing gesture at the creature. "Very well, Agares, we'll be down momentarily. Let Father know."

The elf popped out of the room without another word, causing Draco to leap from his chair.

"Finally! I was getting bored – seriously, Harry, why did you choose to read of all things?"

Harry shrugged, setting his book – a book borrowed from the Malfoy family library after lunch, of course – down before trailing after his friend. "I like to read, Draco. You could have done the same."

"But it's boring!" whined Draco. "If you'd have just agreed to play chess or something, we could have had a much better time."

Harry shook his head faintly from behind Draco as he followed him to the stairs. "What do you think your father wants? Does he usually send house elves to collect you?"

"All the time," responded Draco. "Father went to the Ministry earlier, but now that he's back he may have something he wants to show us. Father used to collect me when he got home and would teach me spells and other fascinating things. Perhaps this is one of those times."

Harry certainly had no problems with that. Lucius Malfoy was obviously no slouch when it came to magic and power. So what did the man have in mind?

Apparently something other than magical lessons, it seemed, as the boys made their way into the entrance hall. A shorter, athletic looking man stood beside Lucius, laughing with a broad smile on his face. A yellow and black striped shirt hung closely to large shoulders and a vicious–looking wasp was tattooed prominently on the right side of the man's neck. The man was holding a black broom in his hand.

"There you two are," Lucius smiled slyly, winking at his visitor.

Draco beamed. "Hello, Mr. Beeler. It's great to see you again."

The man – Beeler – held out calloused hands towards Draco, leaning his broom across his torso before moving to shake the boy's hand. "No, no, Draco; Royce, remember? No giving that title to anyone who plays Quidditch for a career, alright?"

Beeler turned blue eyes towards Harry before grinning once more. "Harry Potter, right? I'm going to have to trade for your autograph before I leave."

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking the large hand. "Is it really that impressive that I can sign my name?"

"Nope! But it's something none of my teammates would have!" Beeler laughed. "Lucius told me you made the Slytherin Quidditch team. Very nice! First year, right? That doesn't happen often."

Harry grimaced, but nodded. "I sort of got forced onto the team. I wasn't necessarily trying out, but the Quidditch Captain said I was the best flyer for the job so I got it."

"That's why Royce is here," Lucius intoned softly. "I mentioned to him that you had never seen a Quidditch match, let alone practiced for one. Royce made it clear that he is only too happy to help."

"Yep! Wimbourne Wasps!" Royce boomed, tapping the side of his neck a couple of times. "And I know Draco here is no slouch on a broom, either. You planning to try out next year, Draco?"

"Yes sir," Draco said, grinning slightly at Royce's wince. "I was hoping to try out for the seeker position, but Harry here beat me to it."

Royce's eyes bulged as his smile broadened. "Oh, so you're playing my position? Excellent, Harry! I've got a lot of things I can show you."

Harry, despite himself, found his heart flittering inside his chest. He didn't want to play Quidditch, necessarily, but if he was getting private instruction from a professional seeker – well, that changed the entire game, didn't it?

' _Flying on a broom is overrated_ ,' Voldemort stated loftily.

Harry bit back a snort. ' _It's pretty damn awesome. The only thing that could be better would be to – wait, can you fly without a broom?_ '

' _Of course_ ,' Voldemort growled, sounding insulted. ' _How dare you doubt my abilities._ '

' _Shit_ ,' Harry breathed. ' _Teach me. Teach me tonight, alright?_ '

"– And since you are in need of an upgraded broom, Draco, I decided to buy the latest of the Nimbus line for both you and Harry."

 _What_?

"It's an awesome line," Royce added. "I usually fly on a Nimbus. I find that they can match the speed of Cleansweeps and surpasses that of Comets, but the handles are sharper. Lighter. The grip is narrower and easier to turn."

"You-you got us brooms?" Harry stuttered, watching dazedly as Draco inspected a dark brown broom.

"Thanks, father!" beamed Draco. "Harry, we've got to go try these out. Shall we go to the Quidditch pitch?"

Harry looked at his friend in befuddlement. "You guys have a bloody Quidditch pitch?"

"Malfoy Manor," Draco boasted with a grin. "Has everything. Shall we go, father? Royce?"

Lucius nodded, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder and handing him his new Nimbus 2000 with the other. Draco practically skipped down the hallway towards the back lawn with a laughing Royce in tow. Harry and Lucius walked at a more leisurely pace, the man's hand still on Harry's shoulder.

Now Harry could add a brand new, top of the line broomstick to the list of things he owed Lucius Malfoy. The books. The place to stay. The food. The trunk. And now a broomstick.

"…Thank you," Harry muttered.

A small pat answered him as Lucius smiled with no small amount of satisfaction. "Anytime, Harry."

* * *

Harry leaned down upon the streamlined broom, flattening his body as he spiraled around the outermost hoop in pursuit of the golden snitch. The snitch was mere feet in front of him and rapidly speeding up, doing its best to evade capture. Harry tightened his calves around the end of the broom and shot forward.

"Another end-over, Harry!" Beeler barked from right behind him. The Wimbourne seeker was having no troubles in keeping up with him, and these damn end-overs were getting frustrating and exhausting.

Harry angled his broom up slightly before dipping back down, allowing inertia to put space between his body and the broom. Hooking his right angle around the twigs at the end of the broom, Harry cut the acceleration and jerked sideways as he twisted his torso sharply, flipping the broom in the opposite direction.

"And go!"

He gripped hard and pressed himself down, shooting off quickly past a floating Royce. Harry had been at this drill for nearly a half-hour, it seemed. Royce said that it trained acceleration and proper trailing of the snitch, but Harry was getting frustrated because the man wouldn't let him catch the blasted thing!

In a handful of seconds, Harry was back at the goal posts on the northern side of the pitch – back to where Royce was having him start. Draco whistled from above him.

"Very sharp, Harry!"

"He's not kidding," Royce laughed, steering his broom alongside Harry's. "You're very quick on that thing."

His chest was heaving for breath, so Harry settled for staring at the man and raising a palm upwards.

"The last few direction changes were stellar," Royce grinned, ignoring Harry's indignation. "I knew you'd be able to handle that maneuver. If you can already do a vicious Wronski Feint, an end-over is nothing to worry about."

"What's the move you've got named after you, again?" Harry asked hoarsely. Royce had mentioned the move before the three of them had gotten into the air, but he could not remember what it was, exactly.

Royce grinned. "Royce's Ring, they call it. I didn't name it, but our fans coined it. It's a bit tricky and requires contact with the opposing seeker, though. I'll show it to you another time, but I want to end this little practice session with a seeker versus seeker match. You got enough left in you for it?"

Harry found himself smirking. Of course he had enough left for it. "You want to lose that badly to an eleven year old, huh?"

"Oho!" chortled Royce. "I won't lose, but I do like the confidence. If I did lose, though, my teammates would never let me hear the end of it."

Harry shrugged. "Wouldn't be my problem. Shall we go, then?"

"It's an amateur-grade snitch; it's around here somewhere," Royce declared. Seeing Harry's puzzlement, he clarified: "Hogwarts and other non-professional leagues generally use an amateur snitch. It's a little bit slower, but the main difference is how far the snitch will roam. An amateur snitch will stay very close to the pitch."

"Ah…so that's why professional games last longer," Harry surmised.

"More ground to cover," Royce said, clapping Harry on the back. "Let's go."

Harry stayed close to the professional seeker. He didn't think the man was too fast for him, but he _was_ too strong; the man was built like a...really strong guy.

' _Brilliant deduction_.'

' _Shut it_ ,' Harry gritted out. Royce shot off down the south end of the field, but Harry wasn't falling for it. He'd seen that sly look. Harry trailed after the man at a slow pace to keep the distance between them at a minimum, but kept his eyes peeled for the snitch.

"So damn sunny," Royce laughed. "I figured I'd get you with that."

Harry smiled but didn't look at him. "Gotta feint better than that."

"You little trash talker!" Royce exclaimed. "I'm going to teach you a thing or two before this is over."

And he did. As the minutes passed, Royce began instructing Harry on how to survey for the snitch. Start high and look low, he said, before switching up and flying low to look up at the action. At Hogwarts, he'd need to run a lap around the stands to see if the snitch was hiding on him, but with this open field, that was unnecessary.

"Got to have a strategy," Royce said as he furrowed his brow. "Got to know your opponents and what they like to do and how to beat them to the snitch."

Suddenly, Royce darted off again, but Harry ignored him once more – he saw the snitch. It was hovering several feet off the ground and right up against Draco who was now watching from the grounds with his parents. How did they not notice?

Harry gripped tightly with his heels and pulled with them. His body angled down and he shot forward with all the speed he could muster. The snitch seemed to be aware that it had been spotted as it shot off as soon as Harry dived. The snitch flittered around from direction to direction before settling into an upward climb. Harry was hot on its heels.

"Damn, you got the jump on me!"

Harry dipped his head slightly to look over his shoulder. Royce was several yards behind him and closing in quickly. What unnerved him was that the man did not seem stressed at all. He expected to win.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

The snitch veered to the left sharply before dropping like a rock. Harry rolled to the side to follow, but Royce did something awe-inspiring. The man let his body drop from his broom and rolled his wrist, twirling the broom overhead as he twisted his body in the air. Suddenly, the man was realigned on his broom and hot on his trail.

"Better hurry up, Harry!" Royce exclaimed wildly. Harry heard him, but was focused on the snitch in front of him. It rolled to the right before evening out fifty feet or so above the ground. Harry was mere feet away from winning.

Reaching out his hand, Harry felt Royce pull up beside him. The man was about a half-broomstick behind him, but Royce had his head and shoulders pressed up against his torso. Harry struggled to keep his broom straight and put pressure back on the man. Suddenly, the man disappeared.

Harry served to the left from the lack of pressure. In the next instant, Royce was on his right side, neck and neck for the snitch. The snitch dropped and Harry swiped, but Royce threw his shoulder into Harry's triceps, knocking Harry's arm off kilter.

Shit.

Harry pulled back as Royce whooped and flew a circle around him. "There's Royce's Ring, for you!" The man laughed.

"What exactly did you do?" Harry asked incredulously. He had been played, he realized, when Royce had forced his bodyweight on him.

"It's a variation of the sloth grip roll," The man explained with a grin, the snitch held in his right hand. "I throw my body into the other seeker, press on them until they either veer off course or push back. If they push back, I angle my broom downwards with my foot and roll underneath them. Seekers are usually so thrown off by me disappearing that I can get an advantage on them."

Harry shook his head with exasperation. "And I'm guessing you were holding back on me on top of that."

"A little," Royce admitted. "But not a whole lot, I promise. I was just enjoying the competition. You were spectacular for a seeker who's never even flown in a game!"

The two were flying down towards the ground where the Malfoys met them.

"Not bad at all," Lucius praised.

Draco shook his head. "Not bad? That was brilliant! You're going to win for sure, Harry. You almost beat Royce!"

"Nah," Harry muttered with a small amount of derision coloring his voice. "He had me from the get go."

"But you improved a lot today! Now, how about that autograph?" Royce trailed off teasingly.

* * *

' _You remember what I told you about chakra points?_ '

Harry nodded. The quaffle that sat on his desk was signed by Royce Beeler and sat next to Hedwig in her cage. Royce had had him sign his shirt of all things – but to each his own. Now, all the Malfoys had retired for the night, and Voldemort was in a teaching mood.

' _Good. Now, you must become cognizant of each of them in turn. They are your key to several obscure branches of magic – and if you desire to fly, you must be able to channel your magic through them all simultaneously._ '

Harry's brow furrowed. ' _So how many are there?_ '

A dark chuckle answered him. ' _Thirteen. Ironic how these numbers always pop up, eh? You have one at the base of each wrist – the ones you generally cast magic through – at the elbows, the feet, the knees, the shoulders, one at the base of the sternum, one in the pelvis – ' Harry choked. 'And one in the throat. We must teach you to use each of these in turn if you want to fly. Casting from other pools of magic can have interesting effects, as well._ '

' _Let's do it, then,_ ' Harry stated eagerly, scrambling off the bed to get his wand.

Voldemort stayed quiet until Harry was situated on the bed once more. ' _The best way I've found to train the usage of alternative magical pools within the body is to cause your magical system strain, namely through the casting a spell with a larger focus on expending magical energy_.'

' _Go to the window and open it_.'

Harry did what he was told, flicking his wand as he moved to the window. Was he going to get to fly now?

' _Now, you are going to cast the Cruciatus Curse_.'

'Wait! Why on earth would I need to do that?' Harry argued. Seriously, where did that come from?

Voldemort growled in distaste. ' _Because I said so. It is a spell that will work wonderfully for our purpose. Do you know how to cast the Cruciatus?_ '

' _No, Voldemort, because I don't go shooting it around at everyone,_ ' Harry muttered sarcastically, gripping his wand tighter.

' _You'd feel better if you did_ ,' Voldemort stated in dark amusement. ' _The Cruciatus is a manifestation of your negative energy. You must experience hatred or contempt and let go of your restraint. The wand movement is a flick upwards before slicing down and to the right_.'

Harry nodded, wiping his mouth on the back of his left palm as he shook his wand hand. 'What do you think of when you cast the Cruciatus?'

' _My father, if I want the spell to truly cause pain –_ '

'Truly?' muttered Harry with a vague sense of horror. Wasn't _just_ the Cruciatus bad enough?

' _When I cast my strongest Cruciatus, Harry, no one gets up._ '

' _Ah – well…_ '

Harry dipped back to the days when he was stuck in the orphanage – it seemed so long ago, but was really just under two months ago. The pain and anger, however, were right under the surface. There was a reason that Muggles were condemnable, after all.

' _The incantation is 'Crucio_.''

Harry breathed deeply and _hated_.

"Crucio!"

Red, sizzling magic jumped from his wand and out the window just as Harry felt a sharp sense of euphoria.

' _Concentrate and hold the spell!_ ' Voldemort barked. ' _Feel your points of expanded energy. When you feel them, you can use them_.'

The spell continued and Harry trembled under the feeling. The muscles in his wrists and shoulders were straining heavily.

' _It's not your muscles, it's your chakra!_ Focus _, Potter_!'

And it was, wasn't it? The tightening feeling was not that of a cramp, but one of…a liquid? A vapor? Harry couldn't quite tell what it was, exactly, but now his throat was tightening and his chest ached – all through the happiness he was feeling from the spell.

Harry dropped the spell with a gasp and panted for a few seconds. ' _What was that feeling? Why did I feel…_ -'

' _Elated? Victorious?_ ' Voldemort intoned slyly. ' _It has been described as the Law of Emotional and Magical interaction. It's a bit like magnet, really; you experience anger and hatred, you cast a spell converting your emotions into a magical equivalent, and your mind fills the void with the opposite of what you felt. Overwhelming, is it not?_ '

Harry nodded frantically. ' _Scary_.'

' _But more importantly, did you feel your chakra?_ '

"Yeah," Harry breathed aloud. "Felt weird."

' _Good. Cast it again_.'

"Crucio!"


	17. Slytherin vs. Gryffindor

"Right. You all know what to do and you all know what's at stake. Slytherin hasn't lost the House Cup in years and you all are certainly talented enough to get the job done once more. The Gryffindor's have had a solid group of Chasers for years and they're better than ever this year. Their keeper, Wood, is getting looked at by professional scouts. Their Beaters are very good at opening up space for their Chasers. And yet, we are still the better team. Potter!"

Harry looked up at Sykes, adjusting the padding on his right wrist once more; he still wasn't used to all the padding that went underneath his Quidditch robes. Sykes had come down to the locker room to give a bit of a pep talk to the team before their first game. The boy was doing a damn fine job of it, considering he knew next to nothing about the sport. Harry tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow, letting the older boy know he had his attention.

"The Gryffindor's biggest weakness is their new Seeker," Sykes informed him. "A fourth year named Richard Reigns won the job, but apparently the Gryffindor captain Wood wasn't too thrilled about the boy's performance at tryouts. You've got the upper hand, there."

"Like hell he does," Flint growled as he crossed his arms. The former captain had been brooding ever since Sykes had entered the locker room. "The firstie's going to ruin our chances, you mark my words."

"How about you focus on your job and leave the Snitch to me, eh?" Harry shot back caustically. "I'd put a few galleons on the Gryffindor Chasers giving you all you can handle."

Harry wasn't lying, either; he had spent a lot of time with the twins since the school had reopened three weeks ago. In that time, Fred and George had teased him about how good the Gryffindor Chasers were.

"Enough – we're all working together here," Sykes intoned, though an amused smile appeared on his face. "I think I've said my piece, though; Bletchley, Whittingale, Montague, Flint, Derrick, Boyle, Potter – you all represent Slytherin today. Don't let us down."

Sykes patted Margaret on the shoulder before showing himself out of the locker room. The Slytherin Prefect stopped on the threshold, however.

"Potter, you'll be acting as out Captain during the match," Sykes smirked, eyeing Flint's murderous expression. "Fly out first, shake Wood's hand…I'm sure Flint can inform you of everything. Don't forget to have fun!"

And with that, Sykes left and Flint turned his rage to the only outlet – Harry.

"You think you can just take my spot? You think Sykes can give you that?!" Flint seethed, gripping his broom so tightly that Harry felt sorry for the poor thing. "I have news for you, Potter, you don't deserve that honor! It should be me going out there as the Captain of this team! After everything I've done – after all the Cups I've brought home for our House!"

"You lost the right in your duel with Felix," Harry surmised uncaringly. "The fact is that you lost; stop making yourself look like such an arse and accept your defeat."

"Why you little _shit_ –"

"Don't. Don't call me that," Harry muttered lowly. His temper flared as the phrase brought back unpleasant memories of a time…less magical.

Montague, one of the Slytherin Chasers – cut from a similar cloth as Flint, much to Harry's disappointment – stepped in between them. "Let's get this win, yeah? Fight later. And Marcus, you can take it out on the three Gryffindor slags; we'll rough 'em up right good, we will."

"You two are imbeciles," Margaret stated with a sigh, picking her broom up and leaving the locker room. Harry reached for his own broom to follow her. A large hand grabbing his robe stopped his progress.

"You and me will settle this later," Flint said threateningly, much to close to Harry's face for his liking. It didn't stop Harry from laughing, however.

"What are you going to do, Flint?" Harry asked with a derisive grin. "What could you possibly do that would scare me?"

Flint cracked his neck as he jerked it to the side. "I'll leave that as a surprise, but you need to be taught a lesson little firstie."

Little? Harry withheld a snort at that. He'd put on nearly 10 pounds since his ritual as well as growing a bit taller. He was one of the taller first years, now. "Well you aren't the person I'd go to to be taught anything, Flint. But if you'd like to start something right now, I can certainly end it for you."

"Later. After the match. You'll get what is coming to you, Potter." With a shove that was just childish in Harry's opinion, Flint stormed out of the locker room, Montague in his wake.

' _Idiot_.'

' _Quite_.'

Harry lowered his head and smiled, turning back to his locker to grab his broom. ' _Flint is going to learn, eventually. Poor sod just doesn't know who he's dealing with_.'

' _If the boy refuses to learn, however, I'll gladly handle the trash_ ,' Voldemort stated jeeringly. ' _Sadly, Flint's father is nearly as useless as his offspring_.'

Harry knew he could handle Flint, though. After all, he was currently being trained by Voldemort, and though they had only been at it for a few weeks, the results were dramatic.

Ever since his first Cruciatus, Voldemort had drilled him relentlessly in order to allow Harry to become aware of his…chakra points. And it was working. Harry had learned to consciously flood the chakra points in his upper body. He still wasn't able to cast spells, yet, but Voldemort was deeply satisfied with his progress. Harry decided to trust the man and his judgment.

Voldemort had also tossed in a couple of useful spells and Harry made them staples of his own everyday spell vocabulary. Voldemort knew many spells that were just plain interesting and useful. There was a spell for note-taking, a spell for waking up without feeling drowsy, and several spells to maintain one's own appearance, from getting clothes to lose their static to cleaning teeth. And the man threw these spells out so flippantly. They were nothing major, of course, but they were things Harry had never even thought to look for.

' _Quidditch match, Harry_.'

' _I know_ ,' Harry groused. Couldn't a kid get a chance to settle his nerves? Oh, who was he kidding – he wasn't nervous. Quite the contrary, actually.

Poor, poor Richard.

' _Let's get to it, then. As your acquaintance Sykes said: you represent all Slytherins today_.'

' _I didn't think you liked Quidditch_ ,' Harry replied amusedly, raking a hand through his hair and smoothing down his robes as he looked into a mirror.

' _I like winning_.'

' _Can't argue with that_.'

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please!" Lee Jordan announced loudly over the microphone in the Professor and visitors' box of the Quidditch pitch. "On a chilly, overcast Saturday afternoon, we have something to be excited for; our first Quidditch match of the year! Today's match will be between Gryffindor and Slytherin!"

The crowds of students roared their approval and horns blared as the adults politely clapped. Jordan grinned and continued:

"If that were not enough to be excited for, the Minister of Magic is at the pitch! Everyone give a Hogwarts to Minister Fudge!"

The portly man stood up and removed his bowler hat graciously, waving at the students around the pitch with a smile. Lucius Malfoy, seated at the Minister's immediate right, clapped softly. Royce Beeler, to Lucius' right, used two fingers to whistle loudly.

"The Slytherin team has held the title of Hogwarts Quidditch Cup champions for quite a while, now, but the team has seen several changes. Former Captain Marcus Flint has lost his title – how, it seems we'll never know – and two newcomers have joined the Slytherin squad: Chaser Margaret Whittingale, a fifth year and the first female player for Slytherin in nearly a decade, and Seeker Harry Potter, the first firstie to make a Quidditch team in who knows how long! Could this be the year that the Slytherins are overthrown?"

The Slytherin section near the north end of the pitch booed dramatically. The rest of the stadium cheered wildly.

"If anyone has a chance of uncrowning the Slytherins, it is the mighty Gryffindors - a team whose skill is unrivaled, whose prowess knows no bounds – "

"Jordan…unbiased, we've been over this," Professor McGonagall scolded tiredly.

"If that wasn't unbiased, I don't know what is, Professor," Jordan beamed. "Captained by a future professional, Oliver Wood –"

"You cannot know that, Jordan."

"Did you watch him last year, Professor? The bloke's insane! Anyway, the Gryffindors return six starters, from the lovely trio of Chasers – including Angelina Johnson, who led all Hogwarts Chasers last season in goals scored - to the menacing Weasley twins. If any team is prepared to return the Slytherins to their rightful place, it's this Gryffindor team!"

Ignoring the dreary groan from Professor McGonagall, Lee Jordan ploughed ahead. "And look now! The Gryffindors are taking the pitch! Chasers Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Beaters Fred and George Weasley, Seeker Richard Reigns, and the best bloody – "

"JORDAN!"

"Keeper in the world, Oliver Wood!"

Scarlet robes raced through the air as cheers rose from the stands. Once again, the Professors applauded politely.

"And now it's Harry's time," Royce Beeler exclaimed excitedly, pushing gently at Lucius' shoulder.

Lucius nodded faintly. "Indeed. I eagerly anticipate seeing how your tutelage has helped him improve."

"Great Scott – you taught the boy?" Minister Fudge voiced, leaning to look at the professional Quidditch player.

Royce nodded emphatically. "Harry's wicked on a broom at that! That boy almost beat me to the Snitch, he did!"

"Lovely," Professor McGonagall sighed, leaning back to join the conversation. "There go my hopes at winning the Cup this year. At least I like the boy."

Royce grinned as Pomona Sprout gasped and lightly scolded her. "Harry's an awesome kid. Very competitive and learns really quickly. Don't be surprised if he pulls a few tricks out of the bag today."

"Last thing we need from him, isn't that right, Severus?" Professor McGonagall noted lightly. Snape, sitting next to Headmaster Dumbledore merely turned black eyes in their direction before sniffing and turning his attention once more to the pitch.

"And here come the Slytherins!" Lee Jordan said, much less enthusiastically than before. "Keeper Bletchley, Chasers Whittingale, Flint, Montague, Beaters Derrick and Boyle, and Seeker Potter!"

Harry shot up sharply from the tunnel, looping quickly around the right side of the pitch as the chilly wind whipped at his face. The Slytherins cheered as he drew near so he decided to give them a show. Slowing down and dodging one of the Gryffindor Chasers flying in the opposite direction, Harry rolled to the right before gripping down with his ankles to propel the broom upward. As the broom neared the top of the stands, Harry let off the speed and let the broom free fall, enjoying the adrenaline rush as the grass neared his vision. Leaning down and arching his back, he drew the broom parallel to the ground before speeding off down the pitch.

"Well, it certainly looks like the firstie can fly!" Jordan commented. "But does Potter have the skills to find the Snitch?"

"Damn right he does," Beeler exclaimed giddily. "It's been a long time since I've been this excited for a match!"

"You're certainly acting like a child," Lucius slyly stated. "But I expect Harry to do quite well."

"Players!" Madam Hooch shouted after whistling loudly. "To the ground!"

"We're mere moments away from the start of Quidditch season, folks!" Jordan announced. "Madam Hooch will now instruct the players and let loose the balls."

Harry landed on the soft grass with a bounce in his legs; this was exciting and new and he was ready. Walking forward, Harry shook hands briefly with the twins and murmured a quick "Good luck and give Flint hell for me" before approaching midfield. There, Hooch and Oliver Wood waited for him.

"You're the new Captain?" Wood asked gruffly. The older boy seemed ready to play as well. He was broad-shouldered and standing defensively, exemplifying his position.

"For now," Harry informed him. "Harry, by the way, nice to meet you."

Wood raised a skeptic eyebrow before holding out his right hand. Harry shook it firmly.

"Flint's been unbearable for ages now and he's in a bad mood today," said Harry. "If you can get under his skin I doubt he's going to be productive."

Wood looked over his head at Flint and smiled predatorily. "I can do that. You sure you should be giving away all the team's secrets, though?"

Harry shrugged. "Flint's an idiot and I'd rather he not even be on the team. I hope you have a good game."

Now Wood was laughing. "I'd wish you the same, but your position is important, I'm afraid."

"Good, the two of you have already shaken hands," Madam Hooch huffed, lugging the box with the Quidditch balls to the center of the field. "Now I want a nice clean game from both of your teams. We're not having a replay of last year. Fouls will be called closely and don't think I will hesitate to eject a player if I feel it is justified. All fouls committed in the scoring zone will result in penalty shots. Any questions?"

Harry shook his head, an act that was mirrored by Wood. "Very well, then. Players, mount your brooms!"

Harry shot into the sky and looped around. The Chasers all grouped near midfield as the Keepers retreated to their goal posts. Hooch released the Snitch first, and Harry followed its movements until it flew out of sight. The Bludgers were next, rolling out of their shackles and into the air, hovering until the Quaffle entered play.

"Aaaaand…we're off!" Jordan roared. "Spinnet wins the Quaffle and Gryffindor is in possession. Spinnet dodges past Montague. The pass to Johnson – nice Bludger there from the Slytherin beater, but Johnson is still in possession. The pass to – ahh – the pass is intercepted by Whittingale; looks like the new Slytherin Chaser is ready to play. Slytherin is moving down the pitch. C'mon Weasleys…yes!"

Up above the action, Harry surveyed the pitch just as Royce had shown him to as the commentating washed over him. The Weasley twins, the only opponents on the pitch that he really needed to keep an eye on – well, besides the other Seeker, of course – were down on the opposite end to defend the Slytherin attack. As for the Gryffindor Seeker, Reigns was mirroring Harry's actions, albeit in a jerky manner. The other boy was definitely nervous.

"GRYFFINDOR SCORES! 10-0 for the good guys!"

Harry rolled his eyes as Professor McGonagall admonished the commentator before looking down. Flint was yelling viciously at Bletchley and Harry had to bottle the urge to go give Flint a piece of his own mind. Instead, Harry scoffed. He had been warned by the Weasley twins for days that the Gryffindor Chasers were exceptionally good. Harry had suspected as much, but the truth was staring him in the face; Gryffindor not only had the better group of Chasers, but they had a better core six – Wood was brilliant and Fred and George were no slouches in their own rights. But Flint was really going to hinder the team's progress at the rate his temper was escalating, though.

Better work on ending the game soon, then. In the meantime, Harry needed to get involved.

"Gryffindor wins possession once more. Katie Bell with the Quaffle moving down the right side of the pitch – nice move past Whittingale – dodges a Bludger from Boyle, and…OI! That's got to be a foul, there!"

"Jordan."

"Seriously, Professor, you can't tell me that's not a foul! Potter can't do that!"

"Madam Hooch would call a foul if there was one, Jordan."

"But Professor – "

"Jordan!"

"Fine," Jordan groused angrily. "Let's let the Slytherin Seeker do whatever tickles his fancy, then – never mind the fact that Seekers can't handle the Quaffle. Slytherin in possession."

Harry snickered to himself as he swooped upwards once more from the action to fly near the Gryffindor goal posts. It was something rarely seen in professional Quidditch matches and for that reason the rule was not well known, but Seekers _could_ technically defend the advancement of the Quaffle – they just couldn't possess it. Harry had shot underneath one of the Weasley twins – George, he thought – and rolled over to sneak an elbow in to knock the Quaffle away from Bell. Montague had been there to receive it and Harry never held the thing – no harm, no penalty.

'Thanks, Royce.'

"Flint's on goal with one man to beat – c'mon, Oliver!"

Harry looked down. A long pass had caught Gryffindor off guard and Flint was one on one with Wood.

"I'm right here, Flintstone!" Wood hollered out. "Let's see what you got! Can't be worse than last year, I suppose!"

Harry watched as Flint's expression grew murderous. The boy reared back, cupping the Quaffle between his right hand and wrist and hurled it – no finesse whatsoever – towards the left hoop. Wood shot off to his right before the Quaffle was even out of Flint's hand, arriving at the hoop in plenty of time to make the stop.

"Let's go, Flint, that was terrible," Wood yelled valiantly, tossing the Quaffle out to Johnson. "At least entertain me!"

"Brilliant save there by the Gryffindor Keeper Wood! He read Flint there like a Potions book – speaking of Potions, Professor Snape, I'd like to apologize for all the times I've - "

"Jordan," Professor McGonagall sighed wearily. "The game, if you would be so kind."

"Right you are!" Jordan exclaimed enthusiastically. "Gryffindor back with the Quaffle –"

The game grew more physical as time went on. Earlier in the game, the Weasley twins had shot a couple of Bludgers teasingly in Harry's direction, but now they were immersed in the Chasers' battle. It was a fast tempo and that seemed to suit the Gryffindors, especially the Weasley twins. They were thriving in the chaos and running circles around Boyle and Derrick and were forcing most of the Slytherin shots to be taken from long range.

On top of that, Montague and Flint were starting to resort to dirty tactics and Harry wasn't a fan of it. Subtle cheating was one thing, but these fouls were pretty damn blatant and unhelpful. On top of that, neither was scoring much, though Montague was playing well on defense. Flint had one goal while Margaret had four.

"Gryffindor scores again!" Jordan announced after a fourth penalty for Gryffindor. "The score is now 140-50 in favor of Gryffindor! Will this be the year – will this be the downfall of the Slytherin Empire?"

Harry winced and leaned forward on his broom, angling it down to make another lap around the pitch low to the ground. He had seen not a glint of the Snitch since the opening of the match and at the rate the game was going, he would need to catch the thing in the very near future. On the bright side, the Gryffindor Seeker seemed content to watch the match from up above the playing area. Wood had yelled after Reigns to start looking for the Snitch, but the boy's attention seemed to always gravitate towards the action.

Harry finished his lap near the Gryffindor stands without success and ignored the taunts coming from the section in favor of looking towards the action. Gryffindor had the bloody Quaffle and were bringing it up from their goal posts. Katie Bell had the ball tucked under her right arm and started to accelerate down the pitch, but a well-placed Bludger from Boyle knocked the Quaffle loose. She streaked off above Harry to retrieve the Quaffle with Flint hot on her heels. Bell recovered the Quaffle near the barricade of the stands and tossed it upwards to a soaring Johnson. She turned her broom parallel to the stands and started to take off –

CRUNCH.

Harry was in action the instant he heard her anguished scream. Flint had pinned Bell to the wall of the stands as the crowd overhead gasped. It was the latest damn hit Harry had ever seen and rage rolled around in his stomach. Hooch was blowing the whistle and Jordan was spitting out curses on commentary and the crowd was booing fervidly as Flint watched Bell fall with a dispassionate look on his face.

Harry raced to the stands and braced his lower body with the walling before reaching out to grasp Bell. She was curled up in pain as she fell, but with the friction of the wall aiding him, Harry was able to support her weight and steer her to the ground. He directed her to lie on her back when her leg gave out.

"This is an outrage! An embarrassment! Flint is so f – Hey!"

Professor McGonagall had reached over to cut Jordan off, but her lips were pursed tightly as she looked on.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, his voice shaking a bit as he restrained his anger. Bell's teeth were gritted and her left arm was dangling at an odd angle.

"My leg hurts really badly," She struggled to say through the pain as tears were forming at the corners of her eyes; Harry couldn't blame her – the leg didn't look in good shape, either. Harry looked up as Hooch blew her whistle once more, demanding all the players return to the ground. Madam Pomfrey was holding the hem of her dress as she ran out onto the field.

"Flint's a God-damned idiot," Harry informed her darkly. "Pomfrey is coming to help you out. I'll take care of my moron of a teammate for you, though."

Wood landed next to Harry in that instant and looked as angry as Harry felt. "Fix that," He fumed, pointing over in the direction of the Slytherin team. "Or my Beaters will take his head off."

"Don't you worry," Harry assured him, his voice like steel. "Flint will regret doing that."

Harry hopped on his broom and the crowd was still booing viciously. He landed near his teammates as Whittingale was attempting to chew out Flint as the older boy smirked in a self-satisfied manner.

"Alright, Flint – what the hell was that supposed to be?" Harry growled. "You damn near killed the girl."

"She had it coming – "

"It's a damn Quidditch match, Flint! She did not have that coming at all! What the hell is your problem?" Harry was yelling as fury filled his eyes. Was he concerned about the girl? A little bit, but this blasted idiot went and practically assaulted a girl in broad daylight while a crowd was assembled – on top of that, he was hurting his team, and by proxy Harry.

Not to mention the damage he was doing to Slytherin's reputation.

"Don't you dare tell me how to play, Potter," Flint spat. "Why haven't you caught the Snitch, yet, huh? Not so good at your job, are you?"

Oh boy, that was rich. What was running through Flint's mind, Harry had no clue, but the boy had gone too far.

"How about you stop acting like a brat for a moment and focus on winning this game," Harry fumed, jabbing his index finger in Flint's direction. "All you've done so far is hurt this team, yelling at Bletchley and committing fouls left in right – they've had four penalty shots because of you! On top of the one they'll get for your latest foul! I don't even know what Hooch is going to do –"

"Nothing." Flint grinned maniacally. "No ejections in Quidditch, Potter. I've given us a three on two advantage for a bit so how about you go catch the fucking –"

"Potter!" Hooch yelled. Harry looked over to see Wood standing beside the official and Hooch was beckoning him over.

"I'm going to go clear up your mess, Flint. You're fucking welcome," Harry muttered. "For everyone else, let's try to get our heads back into this, okay?"

Harry trotted off with his broom tucked under his arm as the Slytherins started arguing again, his heart beating rapidly under the influence of adrenaline. This was so bloody hectic and crazy and Flint was so _fucking_ dead after this. He arrived in front of Hooch as she looked over his shoulder with distaste at his teammates.

"Here's the situation, Potter: Bell has two fractured ribs, a broken collar bone and a cracked femur – not to mention all the bruising and extracurricular damage caused by your teammate. Pomfrey is working on her, but she won't be able to get in the air for several minutes still. As a result, the Gryffindor team is at a disadvantage and I will not reward such behavior from your team –"

"Nor would I want you to," Harry scoffed, looking back at Flint as he was patted on the back by Montague. Bletchley had turned away disgustedly from the group as Whittingale patted him on the back.

Hooch nodded solemnly. "So here's what I propose – a penalty shot for Gryffindor and an added penalty for Mr. Flint. He will not be allowed back in the air until Ms. Bell is ready to return to the match."

"Sounds good," Harry nodded. "Wood, he's not sorry in the slightest and I apologize for not being able to control him. I'll do my best to get him kicked from the team for this."

Wood simply stared back, a vein popping up in his neck as he swallowed, before returning to his team's huddle.

"So it looks like Madam Hooch has the situation under control," Jordan groused from the top box. "Gryffindor will be without Katie Bell until she is fit to return and Slytherin will be without the dirtiest player at Hogwarts, Marcus Flint, until Bell is ready to return. Gryffindor will be awarded a penalty and that's it, I guess."

The crowd booed as Flint was escorted to the tunnel and Harry returned to his team's huddle. "Alright, this is how this is going to work," Harry yelled over the crowd. "Bletchley, you are going to let Gryffindor score this penalty – don't try to block it."

"Like hell he will!" Montague protested. "We're already down as it is! We ain't spottin' these guys any points!"

"Yes we are," Harry countered. "Flint caused this and we're going to accept it. Do any of you agree with what he did?"

Montague nodded vigorously as Margaret shook her head. Boyle and Derrick looked to the ground and Bletchley looked to Harry with a glint in his eye.

"You ain't the Captain, Potter," Montague protested hotly. "You don't get to make these decisions."

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not the Captain, but neither is Flint. He doesn't get to yell at Bletchley like he did earlier. He doesn't get to hurt the other players. He doesn't get to hurt our team."

Harry turned to Bletchley. "It's up to you."

"Slytherins! Let's go!"

Bletchley nodded to Harry with a disgusted scowl on his face as the Slytherins took to the air.

"And now a penalty for Gryffindor…Chaser Angelina Johnson steps up to avenge her fallen teammate. There's the whistle – wait – what's Bletchley doing? He's letting her…score?"

Harry watched in approval as the Quaffle soared through the center ring and clapped in Bletchley's direction. "Now let's get after it!" He shouted.

The whistle blew once more and the Chasers were off, as if none of it had ever happened. Quidditch was something crazy.

 _'You don't realize what you just did, do you?_ '

Harry jumped minutely. That was the first Voldemort had spoken since their discussion in the locker room.

 _'I made sure everyone knew that Flint's an idiot,_ ' Harry countered.

Voldemort laughed softly. _'Yes, but you do not understand the subtle nuances of what just occurred, do you? No matter, it all relies on you winning this game – best get to it, then.'_

_'Definitely.'_

* * *

"Slytherin with another score – brilliant shot there by Whittingale," Jordan said with a bit of strain. "It looks like Gryffindor could use Katie Bell back in the game. Hopefully she'll be back on the pitch before the end of this one, folks."

Harry grinned, circling around Reigns; the score was now 160-70 and Slytherin was playing better without Flint; that worked well to satisfy Harry's vindictiveness concerning the former captain. The problem, however, was that scoring with only two Chasers was _tough_. It was up to the Seekers, now, and Harry knew it. Now where was that bloody Snitch?

"Harry needs to find the Snitch – and like now," Royce muttered hastily to Lucius. The professional Quidditch player had both his hands balled into fists and tucked under his chin, but his eyes were not following the Seekers.

"Definitely," Lucius agreed. "I've seen nary a sight of the Snitch, however – it's as if it has disappeared."

"No, no, no," Royce shook his head vigorously. "It's over near one of the rises in the stands. See?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes and gazed in the direction Royce was pointing. Sure enough, tucked right in and camouflaged by the checkered pattern of the Hufflepuff section was the Snitch. It was behind the students, however, so none of them were aware of its existence.

"Where is it?" Minister Fudge asked stuffily. The stout man had pulled out a handkerchief a while back, dabbing at his raw nose from time to time.

"Hufflepuff section," Lucius whispered.

"There! Harry's seen it!" Royce shouted, standing bolt upright as Harry zipped away from the Gryffindor Seeker. "Go, Harry, go!"

Harry had seen it. The overcast sky was preventing any glint or shine from the Snitch, but when it had moved over the black in the Hufflepuff banner, Harry had spotted it. Leaning forward with predatory urgency, he gripped hard on the shaft of his broom with his forearms and shot ahead like a bullet.

"Potter has spotted the Snitch! And he has a huge lead on Reigns! C'mon, Richard, he can't catch it now!"

The Snitch appeared to notice the attention and dropped like a fly, moving away from Harry as the crowd flared to life. Harry chased after it with all the speed his new broom could muster – and that was a lot of speed, mind you. The Snitch tapered off feet away from the grass and zigzagged around one of the goal posts on the Slytherin end.

"Reigns is making a risky move, here! He's abandoned following Potter in pursuit of the Snitch and is instead attempting to cut the Snitch off! We have a race, here, folks! The first Quidditch match of the year hangs in the balance! Can Gryffindor dethrone the Slytherin dynasty or will the first year save the streak? C'mon, Reigns!"

The crowd was roaring as Harry neared the Snitch. It was still too far to reach out for, but the Snitch took a turn upwards. Harry's focus was sharpened and narrowed; Reigns had no chance; he needed to catch this thing now.

' _Watch out, Potter_!'

Harry looked to the side as a Bludger streaked toward his head with vicious intentions. The Weasley twins were closing in on him and Harry cursed as he was forced to roll over, the Bludger narrowly missing him. As that happened, the Snitch took a hard right turn, right into the path Reigns.

"The Gryffindor Seeker with a chance!" Jordan roared. "Yes? AWWWWWWW-"

The Snitch had dipped low as Reigns snatched at it, right out of his fingertips. Harry shot after the boy, his hamstrings cramping from the effort to propel himself forward. Reign's eyes widened as he veered right, but Harry ignored him. He was back in control and the Snitch was feet away. Feet away, and rapidly nearing the barrier of one of the fan boxes.

To hell with it.

Harry reached out, chilled fingertips closing around the metal ball as he turned sharply and tucked his head. He hit the wall with a crunch and gasp of pain before falling several feet to the safety sand surrounding the stands.

"Damn fine catch by Harry Potter," Jordan stated grimly as the Slytherin crowd erupted. "Slytherin escapes with the win, 240-170."

"Yes!"

Bletchley was the first to arrive near him, Harry realized dazedly as he sat in the sand. That wall was hard and unforgiving, but nothing seemed to be broken. Harry rolled up the hem of his right sleeve to see a bruise forming near his elbow. Looking up, Harry matched Bletchley's beaming face with a smile of his own.

"No sweat," Harry panted out. Margaret landed near him and pulled him to his feet.

"Brilliant catch! Brilliant match!" She exclaimed.

Bletchley nodded, still grinning. "And without Flint."

The rest of the Slytherin team landed to celebrate, though Montague looked a bit put out. Looking over them, Harry saw the students filing out to get on the field, the Slytherin's still cheering heartily. Professor Snape looked pleased, if a bit reserved, but Harry spotted Royce, jumping up and down as he jogged over. Following behind him at a more reserved pace was Lucius Malfoy and a wind-blown Minister of Magic.

' _You idiot_ ,' Voldemort berated him without much heat. ' _You almost let that victory slip from your grasp. Pay attention! This was not the time to lose_.'

' _There's never a time to lose_ ,' Harry countered, shaking his hand to relieve the needle-sharp pain residing in his forearm. ' _But you're right – that was too close for comfort_.'

Voldemort growled. ' _You have no idea what an opportunity you would have squandered. Flint will have to be dealt with, though, and soon_.'

Harry nodded, accepting a hug from Margaret. ' _I know_.'

' _Do you?_ ' Voldemort asked quizzically. ' _I'm not sure you truly do_.'

"YAAAAAY!"

Harry lost his opportunity to rebuttal as Royce came jumping into the Slytherin huddle to tackle Harry.

"What a catch, what a game!" Royce grinned, ruffling Harry's hair. "We've still got work to do, though. You'll never get beaten to the Snitch in your career, here, at this rate, though!"

Harry settled his hair back into place – which was all over the place – as he shook his head in amusement. Voldemort was probably right; Flint would need to be dealt with, but it could wait. Slytherin had won, and Harry had people to meet and things to do.

In retrospect, Harry would determine later, he shouldn't have ignored Flint. He definitely shouldn't have ignored Flint.


	18. What You Least Expect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be willing to bet that this chapter gets a few comments...

"Harry! What a marvelous game - marvelous, indeed! Is there anything you can't do?"

The voice stood out amongst the boisterous crowd surrounding him and Harry looked over to see the Minister of Magic closing in on him with a broad smile and his arms out wide. Harry grinned lazily and removed Draco's arm from his shoulder, nudging the boy to get his attention. Draco had zeroed in on him as soon as the match had ended, hugging and congratulating him, and had remained by his side.

"Hello, Minister," said Harry, shaking the man's clammy hand. "It's great to see you again. You enjoyed the match, I hope?"

"But of course! How could I not with the display you put on?" Minister Fudge beamed. "I wanted to drop by to congratulate you on such a fine performance!"

"I'm afraid fine does not even begin to cover it," Lucius Malfoy murmured, sidling up beside the Minister. "Hello, Draco. Harry, always a pleasure."

Harry waited for Draco to receive a brief hug before offering his hand to Lucius. Lucius shook it briefly, a humored smirk on his face before clasping his hands behind his back.

"Well isn't this lovely?" Fudge chortled, turning to Draco as if he'd only just noticed him. "Your father speaks most highly of you, Draco. Doing well in school, I trust?"

"Yes, Minister," Draco nodded, his tousled hair not matching his sudden reserved attitude. Harry hid a grin. "Of course, having Harry as a study-mate does wonders for one's education."

"Excellent!" clapped Fudge. "Now, Harry, I have a – well, I should say friend, I suppose that I would like you to meet. He is a great person to know, I assure you!"

Harry blinked. The entire Slytherin house encompassed him, the Quidditch match had just ended and the Snitch was still entrenched in his hand, but why not?

"I'd love to meet whomever you have in mind," Harry smiled sheepishly. He wasn't "sheepish," of course. It was the Minister of Magic, though; best to seem a bit reverent.

 _'Knock it off_.'

 _'Knock what off_?'

 _'That_ ,' Voldemort scoffed harshly. _'That schmoozing attitude. The Minister is nothing but a future casualty – stop acting so awed around him. It's unbecoming_.'

 _'I'm humoring him_ ,' Harry replied, a bit confused as to why it angered Voldemort so. _'It's not like it's genuine_.'

Voldemort growled contemptuously – something he had been doing a lot of lately – but fell silent.

"That's the ticket!" Fudge beamed widely. "He's around here somewhere – I'm sure the two of you will get along splendidly. Pleasure sitting with you today, Lucius."

"Minister," Lucius said smoothly, settling an arm on his son's shoulders. Fudge grasped Harry by the elbow and directed him out of the crowd. Most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were still milling about the Quidditch pitch, Harry observed, but the Gryffindors were long gone. In fact, the only Gryffindor within Harry's line of vision was the Gryffindor Head of House Professor McGonagall. She was speaking with a small delegation of teachers, including Harry's own House Head, Professor Snape. Professor Snape was standing along silently, looking as smug as Harry had ever seen a human look as Professor McGonagall spoke animatedly. Ah – what a rich idea had just made itself known inside Harry's mind.

"One second, Minister," Harry pointing with his free arm towards the chatting professors. "But would you mind terribly if we visited my Head of House for a moment? I'd like to give him the captured Snitch from the match."

Minister Fudge blinked twice in quick before recovering. "Of course! Lead the way, then, Harry. Severus Snape is your Head of House, is he not? Weird fellow, Snape, but your Headmaster vouches for him. Says he's a wonderful Potions Professor – er, you wouldn't have an opinion on the bloke, would you, Harry?"

Did Fudge really care what he had to say that much?

' _No, Potter_ ,' Voldemort spoke up dryly, patronizing him with every syllable. ' _He wants to have other sources inside the castle other than Dumbledore. Honestly, use your brain_.'

' _Shut up_ ,' Harry retorted mentally. "He's certainly a brilliant mind, Minister, and really good at what he does - he's a very demanding teacher, though, but I've learned a lot in his classroom."

"Glad to hear it," huffed Fudge importantly. "The Ministry tries to stay out of Hogwarts' affairs and let the school run itself, but it is lovely to hear that our children are getting the education that they deserve. Ah! Minerva, Severus, Filius, and Pomona – how are you four this afternoon?"

"Splendidly," drawled Professor Snape, a sly smirk on his face. Black eyes drifted in Harry's direction. "Mr. Potter, I believe congratulations are in order – you have done Slytherin proud, today."

"He's better than James Potter ever was," Professor McGonagall spat, but her words had no bite. "I shouldn't be surprised. Good match, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled. If she was going to play the good sport, this might change things. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall. I wanted to do this, though, before I forgot – Professor Snape, here's the Snitch from the match. This is what the winning Seeker is supposed to do, right? I read about it in _Quidditch Throughout the Ages_."

Professor Snape's eyes glittered with suppressed satisfaction, reaching out for the proffered golden sphere as Professor McGonagall through up a hand in frustration. "But of course – I thank you very much, Mr. Potter. This shall go in my office for all to see," His gaze flicked over to Professor McGonagall. "After all, such an achievement deserves special recognition."

"I'm done," Professor McGonagall muttered and Harry had to restrain from laughing. "I need to go check on Wood, anyways. Last time we lost he almost drowned himself in the showers. Minister, Professors, Mr. Potter."

And with that, she took off down the pitch, her pointed hat nearly falling off her head with the swiftness of her feet. Pomona bustled after her as Flitwick chuckled merrily. "Brilliant catch, Mr. Potter," The wizard squeaked as he reached up to pat Harry's shoulder. Flitwick took off to chat with some of his Ravenclaws, leaving a smug Professor Snape as the only teacher left.

Snape grinned slowly, almost predatorily as his eyes followed Professor McGonagall up to the castle. "I am going to enjoy this for days. I thank you once again, Harry. Minister, a good day." Professor Snape swept off after his colleagues and Minister Fudge clapped his hands. "That was fun!" The man said. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded silently and followed him with a smile on his face. Truthfully, he had just wanted to tease Professor McGonagall a bit, but Professor Snape seemed genuinely joyful of the victory. Perhaps the two took their rivalry more seriously than he thought?

As the two moved down the pitch near the Gryffindor side of the field, Harry noticed a reedy looking man with pale blond hair and an almost sickly pallor. The man's eyes were tracking their progress and he was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. There was something unsettling about the man – whether it was the look in his eyes or the way the man was nearly hugging himself with his arms, Harry couldn't decipher. However, he was certain that he did not like it.

Fudge was directing him right up to the man and Harry forced himself to remain collected; up close, the man was even more repulsive. He wasn't ugly, nor was he attractive - not by a long shot – but the collection of unflattering features almost made Harry recoil. Pale, nearly clear eyes watched unblinkingly as the man smiled. One of the man's teeth was slightly out of alignment and a stubbly, patchy beard adorned the man's chin.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine – Patrick Fairview!" Fudge announced as he drew up a spell to keep the conversation private. It did nothing to calm Harry. "Pat, this is Harry Potter."

Fairview obviously didn't need the introduction. He was staring hungrily at Harry and the latter did his best not to fidget. "Nice to meet you," Harry said lowly.

Fairview nodded emphatically. "Likewise Harry – may I call you Harry? – Our esteemed Minister has told me quite a tale about you and I just had to meet you myself. I'm a reporter for _The Daily Prophet_ of course. Absolutely fantastic match, by the way. I cover Ministry politics for the paper, but I might have to submit an article about this match for the sports' section!"

His voice was thin and throaty and Harry almost winced. Something prevented that, however, and it was a certain thought. That thought?

What. The. _Fuck_?

Fudge was introducing him to a reporter? And one as slimy as this one? Harry could sense the connection between Fudge and the man Fairview. They were as different as possible – Fudge in his bowler hat and Fairview in a ratty brown robe. What was the connection?

Harry needed help. _'Do you have any idea what is going on here?_ '

 _'Yes_ ,' Voldemort said succinctly. _'And my recruiting pitch for you is about to become much stronger, I assure you._ '

 _'Your recruiting pitch?_ '

_'Listen and learn how the world works - the world that is in need of a desperate change that I will provide.'_

Harry was skeptical, but Fudge spoke up: "The two of us couldn't sit together for the match, of course, but I did want to introduce the two of you – I certainly expect this to be a productive relationship!"

"Er – I'm sorry, Minister, but I'm not following," Harry muttered.

"Let me put it this way," Fairview grinned toothily. "I write about politics for the paper, Harry –"

"And the Ministry, in turn, owns a controlling interest in The Daily Prophet," Fudge whispered conspiratorially, a matching grin on his face.

Waaaaaait a minute.

"You mean the Prophet works for the Ministry?" asked Harry with wide eyes. No fucking _way_. "That's…amazing."

"Isn't it just?" Fudge acknowledged gleefully. "Pat and I – well, we have a good working relationship, shall we say. He makes my Ministry look good –"

"And I receive several benefits from it," Fairview finished. "Inside information and unique magical objects amongst them. It is so nice to have good 'sources.'"

The two of them laughed uproariously, but Harry's stomach lurched. "In the Muggle world, newspapers are privately owned. Companies and governments have to dedicate departments to handle their own public image. To have The Daily Prophet on your side is certainly…efficient."

"Efficiency is my middle name – well, it's Oswald, but that's beside the point," Fudge winked. "Good ol' Pat here wants to write a story about you, Harry. I told him I'd bring the topic up to you, but I'd really recommend accepting. It's a great way to work on your own image in this world and trust me, the public is starving for information about you! So what do you say?"

Harry started at the question; so far he had remained polite despite all that was happening in front of him – or at least he had remained tolerant – but that was only because the bloody Minister of Magic was in front of him. However, this was ridiculous. He felt nothing but derision for these two men at the moment. Honestly, they were conning the entire population while they scratched the other's back! If he had ever doubted that corruption was a problem in the Wizarding World, the answer was quite plain at the moment. And Fudge was grinning like a loon and shamelessly showing him this…farce, as if it were some sort of great treat!

And then there was Fairview. That brown-noser wanted to write about him, eh? How about no. In fact, make that a hell no. Not in a million years.

' _Do it_.'

' _No fucking way, Voldemort. I'm not joining in on this shit_.' Harry retorted quickly.

' _Don't be a fool. You are angry and that is well justified, but do you truly believe that your contempt for these men will stop them? All you will do is isolate yourself from the Minister of Magic_.'

What an annoying statement; Harry couldn't refute any of it. ' _I thought you hated Fudge_.'

A dark, quiet chuckle answered him. ' _Oh, I do. I do indeed. He will die a most piteous death, I assure you. But as of now, this is a game that you must play. Accept their offer – are they not directly handing you power? Take it, and owe them nothing in return. Play to win, Harry. Play this game until I return…at that time, all games will finally cease_.'

' _You're very dramatic_ ,' Harry jabbed lightly despite the shudder that racked his shoulders. Voldemort was really good at the giving speeches and motivating people thing. At least he could see it for what it was, however. Even then, the words affected him.

' _I am also very correct_.'

"Harry? Are you quite alright?"

Harry blinked and strained out a smile. "I'm brilliant, Minister, I was just thinking on your offer and all its…possibilities."

Fudge puffed up like a porpoise. "Naturally you would! You're a bright lad, Harry, I knew it the day I met you! Would you like to do this now, Pat, or –?"

Fairview shook his head emphatically. "No. Not yet…not now. Soon. I'd like to get my questions together and speak to you about the feature before we start this."

"Er – not to pry, sirs, but what questions would you like answered, exactly?" Harry asked. He did not like how this was turning out. Bloody Voldemort.

"Certainly a small bit about your time at Hogwarts, Harry, but mainly I would like to focus on the years between your mighty conquering of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and now. They are such a mystery to our readers, after all. I'm sure that would be an extremely successful feature."

The hungry gleam was back and Harry tried not to shudder. "There's not much to it, sir. I grew up in an orphanage in the Muggle world."

The man gasped harshly and the hungry eyes bulged. "You're – you're serious? How did such a thing happen? Are you aware of how, Minister -?"

Fudge shook his head sadly. Not at all, I'm afraid. I wasn't in office at the time. You should look into that, Pat; I'm sure you can did up all the sordid details. I don't like it at all. You don't enjoy it there, do you Harry?"

Harry shook his head silently. He really didn't like talking about this so Voldemort had better know what he was talking about. "No, sir. Since learning of the Wizarding World – "

"And when did you learn of your heritage?" Fairview pressed insistently. The man's voice was growing high-pitched.

"This summer."

The man whistled lowly as his hands shook. "Oh, my, we do have a scandal on our hands! This is reaching absurd levels – Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, not knowing his own heritage!"

"Er – yeah," Harry responded lamely. "Luckily, I've gotten some friends since being here and I shouldn't have to go back. Mr. Malfoy offered to have me over if I need a place to stay."

"Your advisor?" Fairview's head whipped around to stare at Minister Fudge. Fudge smiled thinly but proudly and nodded. "This is fantastic! Gentlemen, I have preparations to make. Harry, may I owl you?"

"Sure," Harry answered, though his every impulse spoke the opposite.

"Marvelous. I'm off, then!"

Patrick Fairview strode away swiftly – Harry didn't like his walk, either – as a man with a purpose. Fudge moved over to pat Harry's shoulder. "Nice man, eh, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry murmured, hating himself at the moment. "Nice."

* * *

"Are you sure, Harry? I mean, reporters are probably around politicians all the time. It's not that odd for them to be on a first name basis, is it?"

Harry shook his head. "It was more than that, Cedric. Fudge said that they owned the paper. Why does no one know about this? Everything they hear is fed to them by the Ministry. It's absurd."

"Wow," said Cedric. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. Wizarding Britain is pretty spread out – there aren't really any Wizarding cities or anything - and a lot of people work for the Ministry. Sure, it isn't ideal, but it's – "

"It's totalitarianism," Harry interrupted.

Cedric's eyebrows rose. "A what?"

"It's a totalita- a government that doesn't bloody work, Cedric! I don't care that our world isn't densely populated. Most witches and wizards work for the Ministry, there are very few private businesses, and the Ministry spews its own propaganda and it is the only thing the Wizarding World hears! It's got to change!"

The two of them were protected by the seclusion of the library. The Slytherins were going to have a party in the Common Room to celebrate the Quidditch victory – one Harry would be going to soon - but eyes were following him everywhere today. As someone who valued their privacy and was a bit introversive, it was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves. Thank God for Cedric; the third year had found him shortly after the match and brought him out to the library for a bit of respite. And now they were talking about politics, because why not?

"I dunno, Harry," Cedric shrugged. "I'd wager there's very little we can do about it at the moment. We haven't even gotten our O.W.L.s yet."

Harry smiled in spite of himself. Even after his little rant, Cedric said "we" instead of "you."

Having friends was fantastic.

"What's that paper you're working on, again?" Harry asked, leaning in to peer at it.

"It's what Snape does to poor, unfortunate souls," Cedric grimaced, leaning back to ruffle his wavy hair with both hands. "Eighteen inches on the properties of ingredient infusion."

"Well I can't help you there, I'm afraid," Harry informed him sympathetically. "I'm ahead in a lot of subjects, but I'm not that far ahead in Potions."

"Yeah…I'll get it, though. I just think that Snape assigning this over a Quidditch weekend is absolutely criminal," Cedric smiled, pointing with his quill. "By the way, where are your Slytherin buddies?"

"Mmmm…not sure," Harry said, stretching out. "Blaise and Theo are with some girls or something and I haven't seen Draco since at the pitch this afternoon."

"Ah," Cedric acknowledged. "Got any plans this evening?"

Harry popped the crick in his neck with a sigh. He really had needed to get away for a bit. "My House is having a party in a few minutes. Naturally, I have to be there. I'll mill about for a bit before sneaking away and going to bed."

"Not your thing?"

"Not even close," Harry muttered. "There aren't too many people I like hanging out with, especially all at once. What about you?"

Cedric grinned and shrugged sheepishly. "I get on with everybody. Parties are fun."

Of course. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" Harry laughed lowly. He checked the clock – quarter until nine. "I need to get going, though. Thanks, Cedric. I really needed a break."

"Anytime, mate. I probably ought to head out as well; curfew is sneaking up on me."

"You're going to ask your dad about Fudge though, right?"

Cedric nodded, standing. "Sure. He doesn't really get to talk with the Minister much – his job isn't all that high up – but I'm sure he has a few opinions and can answer some questions. Oh, and that reminds me – mum and dad said you'd be welcome to stay at our place some for Christmas break if you'd like to come over."

"I-that'd be great, Ced. Thanks," Harry blinked.

"Brill," Cedric beamed. "We can figure out when specifically later. Later, mate!"

Harry watched him go with a fluttery feeling. He was never going to return to that blasted orphanage – well, at least against his own will. He planned to raze the thing at some point. But his friends had his back.

He'd do anything for them, he realized. Not many – mainly Draco and Cedric – but still, the desire to protect them and see them happy was suddenly making itself known. Was this what family felt like? Harry wouldn't know.

' _Nice kid_.'

' _Brilliant kid, you mean. Cedric's a fantastic friend_.'

Voldemort made a skeptic noise. ' _I do realize you enjoy your…friendships, but you should be more careful about how much you rely on them_.'

' _Oh, that's the thing. I don't rely on them – I want to become strong enough that they're the ones relying on me_ ,' Harry corrected him. ' _I've told you that I want get stronger and this is one of the reasons why. What about you – why were you so driven to become powerful_.'

' _Fear_.'

' _Yes, but of what, exactly?_ '

'… _Of being normal. My life at my own orphanage was miserable, but it was readily apparent that I was different. Better. My parents were disappointments and I refused to become another mindless casualty. I learned and observed. I discovered my heritage_.'

' _Huh_ ,' was all Harry had to offer to that. He turned the corner on his way to the Slytherin Common Room. That was relatable at the very least. He was scared as well. Scared of going back to the orphanage. Scared of not living up to his own expectations that were fueled by his fear of going back to the Muggle world…he could definitely relate.

"Striking in darkness."

The wall opened up slowly to reveal the Slytherin celebration swinging into full gear. Firewhiskey and other…fun beverages were settled behind an age line – presumably drawn by Professor Snape – and the crowd was already getting a bit rowdy.

"Oi! Potter! Over here!"

Sykes, of course. Felix Sykes was sitting on one of the couches with an upper year girl draped around him. In the chair beside him was Margaret Whittingale, however.

"Hello, Sykes. How are you doing?" Harry asked, nodding slightly to his teammate.

Sykes leaned in to whisper something to the chit – whatever her name was – and she giggled like a loon. Sykes grinned predatorily, letting his left hand that was draped around the girl slip lower before responding: "I can't complain, Potter – brilliant job today. I was just congratulating Whittingale here on the same thing. You two were arguably our best players on the pitch today and that looks good on all of us. Well done."

Sykes toasted them both with a peculiarly colored drink and a wink and Whittingale rolled her eyes. She stood up to leave but leaned in to whisper: "He's already drunk so don't mind him much. Watch after Flint, though. He's over there staring right at you."

"Thanks – great game today," Harry replied, sneaking a glance around. Flint wasn't hard to spot. The boy had his arms crossed and was standing in the far corner of the room. His face was draped in shadow, but his eyes were lively and a bit disturbed. The small grin didn't help matters.

Harry threw the boy a glare and shook his head. He just wanted to find Blaise, Theo, and Draco before he got swarmed with people.

Ah, there they were.

"Hey, Blaise," said Harry as he clapped the boy on the shoulder. "What have you guys been up to all day?"

Theo grunted before taking a swig of Butterbeer. "Homework. More bloody homework. You know."

Blaise nodded and Harry shook his head in amusement. "Don't wait till the weekend, then."

"I hate McGonagall," Theo stated matter-of-factly.

"Where's Draco?" Harry asked.

Blaise cocked his head. "We thought he was with you. He hasn't been around for a while, now. Last we saw him he was at the Quidditch pitch."

"Yeah, his father was there," Harry replied. "That was the last I saw of him as well. That's really odd."

"Guess so," Theo recounted distractedly. "Oh, hey, Daphne! Get over here!"

* * *

The party was as bad as Harry had assumed it would be. Pats on the back, drunken conversations with the upper years, and still no Draco. If it weren't the fact that he _couldn't_ get away, he'd be downstairs sleeping by now. And despite all the annoyance, worry was starting to dominate his emotions.

Seriously, where the bloody hell was Draco? And where had he gone? Harry hadn't realized how much he needed the boy's witty quips around him until now, when he needed him most. This was a weekend at Hogwarts; there was only so much one could do. What was Draco doing?!

Also…Flint was damn near stalking him. The older boy's friends had drawn him out of his corner, but Flint was still watching him with that little grin and generally pleased body language. It had unsettled Harry at first, and now it was beginning to disturb him.

"- you need to relax Harry, seriously," Blaise was saying. "You set records today, mate! Enjoy it!"

"I can't," He gritted out. "I'm going to go look for Draco."

"I'm sure he's fine," Theo muttered, half sprawled on the couch. "Besides, it's past curfew."

"Which means that Draco's out after curfew as well," Harry countered. "I don't like this."

His gut was telling him something was wrong. Draco should be here and Harry could think of very little that would prevent him from being at the party. Something must have happened. And Flint, the fucking creep, was still looking at him!

"That does it; I'm leaving."

Harry stood up briskly and left the Common Room before anyone could stop him. As soon as the wall shut behind him, he breathed easy. Quiet. So much better.

"Point me Draco Malfoy," He murmured quietly, retrieving his wand from his pocket and laying it flat in his palm. The wand swiveled slightly to the right, but the hallway did not follow the direction well enough; Draco must be higher up in the castle somewhere. That ruled out a visit to his godfather. Worry was rapidly turning into stress.

Harry walked swiftly, casting a spell that Voldemort had taught him that would alert him if anyone was near. Harry reached the ground floor of the castle and cast his locating spell once more. He followed the corridor and checked every room. No Draco.

What was going on? Was he even in the castle? Harry raced up the marble stairs to the second floor, encountering no adults. What really bothered him besides Draco's mysterious disappearance was Flint's look. Was he wrong to ignore the boy? Should he have confronted him? Harry stopped as a realization hit him.

No. Flint wouldn't.

Harry breathed shakily. Would he?

"C'mon, you blasted thing; point me Draco Malfoy!"

Harry shot off like he was on a broom. The wand was wavering more, now. Draco was on this floor, Harry was sure of it. The second floor mainly consisted of classrooms, though – well, that and the Headmaster's office - which worried Harry even more. There was no reason that he could decipher to be up here. What was Draco doing?

"Draco?" Harry called out feebly. He received no response. The first door on the right was empty. The second was the Defense classroom – empty as well. Third. Fourth. No luck.

Harry reached the end of the hall and his heart stopped. "Lumos!"

Harry brought his wand down to the edge of the door where blood was pooling. "Alohamora!"

The spell didn't work. "Oh to hell with it! OPEN!"

The door blasted in with a bang and Harry rushed in. On the floor near the door was Draco, slumped and drenched in blood. The boy's knee was sticking out at an odd angle and his hair was matted with drying blood. Just behind his left ear, a large gash was oozing blood very slowly, running down the boy's neck and underneath shredded robes.

Draco was not breathing.


	19. The Rage of Harry Potter

_"Not a problem," Draco said smoothly. "It was great to meet you, Harry. I must admit that meeting you has been a dream of mine for a while."_

_"Really?" Harry smiled, a small flicker of life making itself known inside his chest.. "Well, I hope it lived up to your expectations."_

_"It has," Draco nodded, a sheepish smile on his face. "I will talk to my father about getting you out of that orphanage for good. Do you mind if I write to you?"_

_"Not at all," Harry said, positively beaming. "It will make this next month go much faster at the very least."_

_"Fantastic," Draco grinned, holding his hand out for another handshake. "I must be returning as well. My mother expects me back at the Manor at 5."_

_"Manor?" Harry asked._

_Draco smirked with a satisfied glint in his eye. "Let's just say that we would have plenty of room to offer you, Harry."_

* * *

_"Potter?" Parkinson uttered with distaste. She turned quickly to Draco sitting beside her. "Draco, what is Potter doing here of all people?"_

_"Like I said," Harry muttered dryly. "Nice to meet you."_

_"I'm not talking to you, half-blood," She said, amusing Harry with her caustic tone._

_"He's here because I said so," Draco said smugly. And that settled that._

* * *

_"Ew – Theo, you don't want to touch the halfblood. You might catch something," Parkinson sneered from down the table, her arms crossed. Harry found himself rolling his eyes again as Nott's lip curled._

_"It's not his choice to be a halfblood, is it?" Nott questioned lightly, his eyes shifting to Harry. "If Potter's smart enough to hang around Draco, he's worth something, at least."_

_"Thanks," Harry uttered sardonically._

_"It doesn't change what he is," Parkinson interjected with a baleful glare at Harry._

_"Nor does it change what you are, Pansy," Draco sighed, sticking up for Harry once more. "Annoying."_

* * *

_"Harry!"_

_Harry leaned back in his chair to look at the blond boy peeping his head into the room. Draco's normally well-kept hair was cow licked on the left side and the blond locks draped the side of his face._

_Harry waved lazily before running a hand through his own hair. "Morning, Draco. I got a few letters last night."_

_"You done reading them?" asked Draco. He rubbed at his left eye briefly. "Mother and father won't let me eat until you get to the dining room. C'mon! I'm starving."_

_Harry shook his head in exasperation, but stood at his best friend's plea. "Do I need to change or anything?"_

_Draco shook his head vigorously. "Pajamas are fine. This is our home, remember? Father's even in his nightgown."_

_"Our?" Harry questioned, a teasing smile on his face that masked the true emotion he felt at the word. "Since when am I family, Draco?"_

_"Since I met you," countered Draco. "So let's go!"_

* * *

' _Potter! Get it together! Check the bloody boy's heart, you fool! Is it beating?_ '

Harry scrambled to his knees in that growing pool of blood, his breath coming out of him in sharp moans as he reached under Draco's mutilated robes to feel for his heart. Blood seeped over his wrists and his stomach lurched. He ignored the feel of shredded skin, gore, and ribs as best he could, putting pressure upon the left side of the dying boy's chest. At last, he felt the feeble heartbeat, growing fainter and slower with each futile pump of blood. Who would fucking do this in a school? Amongst adults – to a child! To…his friend.

Draco was clinging to life with his blood on Harry's hands, more and more flowing ever so slowly in an attempt to live. Draco would not survive without him. There was no _fucking_ way he would let him down.

His best friend.

' _Help me, Voldemort…please,'_ Harry gasped _. 'Anything. I'll do anything, I'll give you anything – just help me save his life._ '

' _Stop with the groveling and follow my directions_ ,' Voldemort snarled. Where Harry was clinging to his emotions like a boy gripping a kite on a windy day, Voldemort was consumed by anger. ' _He has a heartbeat, yes? But he's not breathing. We must fix that first. The incantation is_ 'Anima Pulmare.' _Wand just below the collar bone, sweep it down and to the left before circling the right side and pulling your wand back towards you. Hurry._ '

Harry did as he was told. His hand was shaking, but it didn't seem to matter. His will more than made up for his quivering nerves. With a swooping brandish of his wand, Draco made a sudden, gurgling inhale as he slumped further down the wall. The back of his head left a grimy, bloody smear against the marble walls. Harry paused, listening hard for further breaths on Draco's part. They were shallow, they were flinchingly wet, but Draco was breathing.

Blood began to flow faster. It was alarming; Draco's body knew what to do with the air, but the blood had nowhere to go but upon Harry's extremities, dripping down to join the pool of blood below them.

' _He's still losing blood; we have to heal the gash on his neck. Get those robes off him so I can see the damage_.'

Harry slashed his wand, splitting the seams of Draco's robes – Draco would kill him later for it; the robe he was wearing was his favorite one, purchased for him by his father in honor of him joining Slytherin House. Harry let out a hysterical sob at the damage.

The slice was deep, long, and seemingly lethal. Whatever spell resulted in this, Harry had no knowledge of. The skin was peeled back and displaying muscle, bone, and tissue, starting right behind Draco's left ear and ending on the right side of his hip, past his navel. It was a miracle that the spell had missed major arteries, let alone vital organs.

' _We can fix this, you hear me?_ ' Harry zeroed in on Voldemort's voice. It was filled with confidence even when Harry felt none himself. ' _I know this spell – a dark spell, but one that can be healed. Next incantation: Ciactrica Sanitas. You will be mending the muscle back together first, then the tissue, then the skin. You've seen someone sew before, yes? That is what you will do with your wand; focus on the muscle, weaving it together. Cast the spell again for the tissue and skin. You do not have much time_.'

That he didn't. Draco's face grew paler by the second. Harry puffed out a breath quickly, gently placing a hand on Draco's chin to direct his head to the side, giving him better access to the wound.

" _Ciactrica Sanitas_!"

He wanted to heal his friend. So badly. He wanted him to live. With a quivering hand, he drew his wand downwards, trailing back and forth as the sinewy, brownish muscles corded themselves back together. He wasn't a professional healer, but with Voldemort guiding him, at least he was achieving positive results. The bleeding lessened considerably, but Draco still bubbled out wet, shallow breaths.

" _Ciactrica Sanitas_!"

The tissue and small veins reformed under his wand. If Harry had not been so scared, it might even intrigue him. The muscles, still visible, wriggled and writhed as their support system returned to them. Harry was forced to avert his eyes. He had to stay in control.

" _Ciactrica Sanitas_!"

The skin, peeled back with a decayed look to its edges, flattened over Draco's torso, melding together as if under a great heat. It was scarring – a clean, risen line - but Harry could do nothing for it; as long as Draco survived the night, the rest could be dealt with at a later date.

Sweat began to separate from his hairline, crawling into and beyond his eyebrows. What else could he do? The injury to the back of Draco's head Harry was reluctant to mess with. For one, it was Draco's _head_ \- another, it was not nearly as dire as the spell that had sliced him open. Draco's leg was the same story. It was mutilated, crooked, and gruesome, but it was not life-threatening. Harry would not be able to forgive himself for screwing up Draco's joint, anyway; it was best left to a professional. So what was left?

' _He needs blood_.'

Of course he did. There were potions for that, he knew, but he had none on hand. Besides, the potions for blood replenishment did not immediately generate blood; instead, they sped up the body's production of its own blood. What took the body days to do took only minutes.

' _There is a spell for it, Harry. A Dark spell. Blood cannot be created; you must sacrifice your own_.'

A drop of sweat dripped down into his eye and Harry shut them both as a wry smile broke free onto his face. For ten years, he had been alone, left to decay in his own hatred for the Magicless world. At age four, rejected. At age six, despised. At age ten, feared. Mere months had changed that. Reunited with his world, the Wizarding World. His heritage revealed. Harry had been introduced to a wand and spells and classes and teachers. He met first friends. What had been so innocent and charming now morphed into a struggle for life. The Darkness would help him save one of the few things he cared about. He welcomed it like a brother with open arms.

' _The spell?_ '

Finally, a moment of clarity. His emotions reigned themselves in. He was a spell away from giving his friend life – so what if it cost blood? What did it matter in the long run? Draco needed to heal and his blood was vital. Harry would freely give it with no hesitation.

' _Very good, you've calmed yourself_ ,' Voldemort remarked with a drop of satisfaction in his words. ''Immolatum Cruor Crucia'' _is your incantation. The wand movement is unique from most spells – it follows your intent rather than any runes. Very will intensive. You are, in essence, transferring blood to another being. As such, the spell involves the hearts of the two individuals. Follow your jugular vein with your wand – no, on the other side of your neck - down past the clavicle and to the heart. Good, and now down your arm, straight to the boy's heart. More of a jabbing motion than that. Yes, much better – it is your intentions that will make this spell work. Mean it, Potter. Do it now_.'

" _Immolatum Cruor Crucia!_ "

With the sharp jabbing motion that Voldemort had direction, Harry's wand made contact with the skin of Draco's chest. His muscles clenched at the sudden, intense sensations assaulting him and his eyes rolled back in his head. His hand quivered, but he kept contact with Draco. He could feel his heart pounding heavily, much too heavily and he opened his eyes to red everywhere.

The reddish haze surrounded them, pulsing with the combined beats of their hearts. It was like a fog rolling off their skin. Harry's head ached and far too much pressure was being put on his eyeballs. He felt sick; so much blood was leaving his system – he had not anticipated how much he would feel such a change – and his balance wavered. But he held on. For Draco. For his first friend.

Draco, for his part, was gaining color. The reddish haze was crowding him, seeping into his skin. Harry could feel Draco's heartbeat grow stronger – through the spell, presumably – and it kept him focused as his own body weakened.

' _Just a moment more, Harry…there! Release the spell!_ '

Harry wrenched his wand downwards and slumped over, gasping heavily. His head felt like it was made of stone and his limbs felt like noodles. Dizziness overtook him and he sat down on the marble flooring in Draco's blood. Draco, however, was stable. Stable and alive.

' _He still needs medical attention_ ,' Voldemort interjected quietly. ' _But you have done very well. You need to find Severus._ '

Harry threw his arms back to support his body, the sanguine fluid seeping underneath his fingernails. His body felt lighter than normal, but it was taking everything he had to keep it upright. ' _He's making rounds at this time of night. He could be anywhere._ '

Voldemort paused. ' _Do you trust me?_ '

Harry laughed deleriously. ' _In what sense?_ '

' _Do you trust me enough to allow me to contact Severus?_ '

Harry was dealing with a literal devil, asking him if he trusted him. Sure, why not?

"Go ahead," Harry uttered aloud, his eyes on his unconscious friend. "Whatever it takes – I told you that earlier."

' _Don't fight me_.'

Harry was about to question the man when he felt something claw at his insides. Harry gasped as his chest constricted and he closed his eyes, focusing solely on relaxing. Suddenly, they opened on their own and his body rose up fluidly. His right hand, which had previously gripped his wand, now traced the inside of his own left forearm. The fingers caressed the skin, as if feeling tracing the lines of the rune drawn there before the hand suddenly pulled back sharply, a black skull and snake forming on his skin, overtaking the rune. Harry watched in awe as the mark writhed and flittered under Voldemort's command. Hissing and spitting sounds came out of his own mouth and Harry was thoroughly confused when he made out the underlying words.

"Severus. Your chambers. _Now_."

The mark darkened further to a point that seemed painful, but Harry felt no pain. Instead, his lungs filled with air and his eyes opened wider; he was in control of his extremities once more.

' _Very good, Harry. I did not have to expend much energy for that. Go to Severus – he will be in his rooms if he has any cells to rub together in that head of his. Levitate the boy_.'

Harry followed directions once more. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Steering Draco as gently as possible, he opened the door with his left hand. ' _I owe you, Voldemort. There was no way I could do this without you. Draco would have died._ '

Voldemort was silent for a moment. ' _I believe you have found a weakness in your education, yes? What are you going to do about it?_ '

"Study – a lot," Harry whispered, maneuvering Draco out into the hallway. "I've still got more to learn."

' _There's always more to learn, Harry. Consider that your lesson from all of this. Now, we turn our focus to who committed this insult. I want you to find them. I want you to hurt them. And I want you, Harry, to set an example. No one fucks with me or anyone under my command_.'

Harry nodded jerkily. He knew instinctually who had done it – or at least he was as close to sure as one could be. Rage was slowly seeping into him. ' _Can you help me find the bastard who did this?_ '

Ah, that dark, creepy chuckle – since when was it comforting? ' _Ahaha….have you ever heard of Legilimency, Harry?_ '

Harry listened intently as Voldemort whispered of all the malicious, revengeful things that he could do to whomever committed this crime. It was personal, now. Whoever did this would suffer. And he would enjoy himself. He would draw it out to enjoy their screams and pleas and sobs. And he knew whose screams and sobs and pleas it would be, too. He just needed proof. And as he listened, enraptured, he shut the door to the classroom quietly, locking it behind him. No one needed to see that room until it was cleaned up and his revenge was served.

Draco could not do it himself, after all, but Harry would make him proud with his work.

With all the thoughts stewing in his head, he never noticed his own eyes in the glass panel.

They were red.

* * *

"Mr. Pot – My Lord! How may I – DRACO!"

"'My Lord?'" Harry asked, scrunching his face. He shook his head. "Draco was attacked, Professor. I found him and healed him as best I could."

Professor Snape was barely listening to him, however. Harry levitated Draco past the threshold and to the couch in Snape's chambers. He laid Draco down on the couch, its beige upholstery already staining from the blood, and tucked a pillow under his head. Professor Snape was moving quickly to a cupboard off to the side of the spacious room.

"What spells did you use?" Snape barked out. "Quickly, boy! I cannot heal him without knowing what happened!"

' _The spell for pulmonary reactivation, a variant of the charm for fleshly regeneration, and sanguine centrifuge, grade four_.'

Harry recanted Voldemort's words dutifully. Professor Snape paused in his collection of potion-gathering to peek his head out of the cupboard. Two eyebrows were raised in surprise. "And where on earth does a first year learn about those spells, Mr. Potter? You do realize that all forms of the sanguine centrifuge are classified as Dark by the Ministry, do you not?"

Harry laughed callously, running a hand down the side of his face. If Snape only knew. "Do I look like I care about that, Professor? If I hadn't known those spells, Draco's fucking dead right now!"

Snape scoffed, but moved to Draco's side with several potions floating behind him. Kneeling, Snape tossed Harry a blood replenishing potion – and thank God, because his head wasn't feeling right – and his wand snapped up; he cast several spells on the comatose boy. His eyes widened further with each spell. "You weren't exaggerating. He still has a concussion and lacerated lung to treat, as well as that knee. What condition did you find him in, Potter? And why are your eyes red?"

Harry tipped the potion back before cocking his head to the side. "What are you talking about? My eyes aren't – "

' _Side effect of my possession earlier. Don't worry about it_.'

Okay, then.

"Yes, they are," Snape repeated. "And I'd like an explanation."

"Draco wasn't breathing when I found him," Harry said, ignoring him. "Huge gash down his chest. I did my best to help him. You can heal him, right?"

"Certainly," Snape looked offended.

Harry shook his head. "No, I mean he's not going to have to visit the Hospital Wing, will he?"

Snape stood for a moment, looking at Harry oddly. "Of course he's going to the Hospital Wing, Potter. If what you are telling me is the truth – and I assure you, anything less would be…foolish – then my godson was assaulted. The Headmaster needs to know about this so that we may launch an investigation. Part of that process is recording Draco's injuries."

"I know who did it," Harry countered. "Or at least I think I do, and I want revenge, Snape. I can't get Draco his revenge unless this stays off the books."

Snape stared at him and Harry matched his gaze readily. On the way to Snape's chambers, Voldemort had soothed him with his words. He wasn't boiling with rage like he had in the past – oh no. Quite the contrary. He was calm, he was anticipatory. He was ready, and much more dangerous.

And he was just _imagining_ the things he'd do to the culprit. There were quite a few spells he wanted to test.

_I want you to set an example._

But in the meantime, he had just revealed his intentions to a teacher…but he had an ace in the hole.

Voldemort.

Snape would stay silent, he knew, if Voldemort told him to. That whole "Master" thing worked like that. Snape probably even suspected, as well. The last time Harry had checked, red eyes were not exactly common.

"Get Draco's parents," Snape said instead with a sigh. "Use my Floo. I believe you know the address."

Harry smirked and did as he was told. That sigh had told him something about Snape – he desired revenge as well. Grasping a handful of the silky Floo powder, he dropped it in the fire grate. "Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire!"

He kneeled and popped his head in once the flames morphed into a pearly green. "Lucius! Are you there?"

His was looking into the Malfoy's dining room, the first room he had ever seen in their house. Soft footsteps echoed from outside the room. It was not Lucius; it was Narcissa.

Well shit. This just got harder to say.

"Harry," She blinked before smiling. "It's so nice to see you again. Lucius informed me of how well you flew this afternoon. Congratulations. Is there something you needed?"

"Uhh, yes, actually," Harry grimaced. "I – Draco was just assaulted at Hogwarts – "

"What?" Narcissa interrupted him sharply. Oh dear, mothers were scary.

"He was attacked – but he's going to be okay," Harry repeated hastily. Narcissa's eyes widened so he hurried along. "I found him and healed him as much as I could. Snape is working on him right now. I need you and Lucius to come through, though. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"Dobby!" Narcissa snapped. A reedy house elf with large, flappy ears popped into existence. "Yes, my mistress? How may Dobby serve his mistress?"

"Get Lucius and bring him here," She growled. "Now, Dobby! Hurry!"

The house elf squeaked and disappeared. Narcissa's eyes shot back to Harry.

"What happened, Harry? Who hurt my son?"

"Draco disappeared after the match and we couldn't find him. I went looking for him and found him in a locked classroom passed out and covered in blood. I did the best I could to heal him and Snape says he's going to be okay."

Lucius trotted into the room, holding the hem of his robe in his right hand. "Narcissa, I know it's amusing to order around the help, but you scared the little beast – ah, hello, Harry."

"Not now, Lucius!" Narcissa butted in, reaching for Floo powder. "Someone assaulted our baby boy. We're going to Hogwarts – Harry, get out of the grate. Move!"

Harry needed no further prompt – Narcissa was really angry.

He was too, to be fair; he was just focusing on his imminent revenge.

"They're coming right now," He informed Snape. Professor Snape was rubbing some potion into Draco's scalp, focusing on the nasty gash in the back of his head. The Malfoy's appeared a moment later, Narcissa rushing to her son's side.

"What happened?"

Lucius asked Harry quietly as he put an arm around the boy. His eyes, however, were on his son. Narcissa was whispering furiously with Snape and the Potions Master was doing his best to quell Draco's mother.

"Found Draco in worse condition than he's in now and did the best I could to heal him. He's going to recover, according to Snape," Harry murmured, his eyes never leaving his friend.

"Ah…," Lucius' eyes were sober, if not downright sad. "I may regret asking this, but how bad was it?"

"…He wasn't breathing."

Lucius' eyes flashed towards him and his lips parted. Harry looked up with an eyebrow raised.

"Your eyes," Lucius breathed. "How did they get like that?"

Harry snorted softly. "Take a guess."

Lucius was silent for a moment before withdrawing his hand. "Who am I talking to at the moment?"

"Harry," He drawled monotonously. "But if you'd like to talk to my…friend, you're more than welcome."

' _Ah, a friend, am I? I suppose that's progress.'_

' _Better than calling you a mentor or some sappy shit like that, right?'_

' _Very true._ '

"No," Lucius shook his head cautiously. Voldemort laughed softly in the back of Harry's mind. "That will not be necessary. However, I would like to find whoever did this to my son and…reciprocate."

"Reciprocate?" Narcissa laughed harshly. There was an unbalanced glint in her eyes. "No, we're going to kill the bastard. No one does this to our family, Lucius."

"I agree," Harry locked eyes with Draco's mother. "And I plan to deal with him. Like, now."

Snape, tipping a potion down Draco's throat, set the flask down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's get this out of the way first. Mr. Potter, who do you suppose took such action against Draco?"

"It was Flint. It has been Flint for a while, now," Harry breathed. "I was planning to challenge him to the Dueling Pit and take my revenge that way. If that wasn't allowed, well…I had another idea in mind. How does the Dueling Pit work, exactly?"

"Flint? As in Marius' son?" Lucius stroked his bottom lip with a foul expression on his face. "That man is not the brightest, but he would know better than to cross my family."

"It is a marvelous idea, however," Narcissa said softly. Seriously, she was scaring the shit out of Harry. He had no idea she was like this. "The Dueling Pit is a perfect solution."

"Why?"

"Because it is a Slytherin secret – you cannot get in trouble for it," She smiled thinly. "No reprocussions. More importantly, however…the Revenge Clause."

Harry cocked his head and Narcissa smiled wider in Snape's direction as she stroked her son's arm. Snape shook his head, but answered: "Normally, the Dueling Pit settles a mutual disagreement. The two parties set their stakes and the duel is straightforward. The Revenge Clause was put in place for a situation like this; for a Slytherin who desires revenge, there's a way down in the Pit to judge whether there is a legitimate grudge to settle. If so, the duel works in a different way. Stronger stakes. The rules in the Pit are much more lenient. And despite the outcome of the duel, the grievance becomes public knowledge."

"So it's almost a consolation prize," Harry surmised. "If you lose, at least everyone knows that you were wronged."

"Wronged, but not strong enough to do anything about it," Lucius corrected him. "Firstly, can you defeat this boy?"

Harry nodded, grinning easily. "Definitely. He won't lay a finger on me."

"You cannot kill," Snape warned, casting a spell on Draco's chest. The boy was breathing much easier now. "That is off limits. Permanent damage is as well. This is a school, after all."

"I won't kill him…yet. Narcissa, Lucius…is there anything you'd like me to do to him?"

"I trust you," Lucius said, crossing his arms and looking over the top of the couch at his son. "I know who's with you."

"I want to watch," Narcissa popped up. "Are you prepared to settle this, Harry? I'd like to see this boy suffer."

Snape stood slowly. "Lucius, if you would stay with your son, we can get this all tidied up. Mr. Potter, are you sure this is the route you wish to take?"

"Already taken," Harry's lip curled. He shucked off his robe and cracked his knuckles. "Flint is fucked."

* * *

His rage was well controlled but building. Snape had just uttered the password to the Common Room and his eyes scanned the dark room. A lot of drunk upper years, he noticed, but Flint…oh, there he was. Sitting with his little buddies, smiling a self-satisfied smile. The rage bubbled and frothed, but it would not do to unleash in now. No, he would wait several minutes more. In the Dueling Pit.

 _I want you to set an example_.

' _Can you do your thing, now?_ ' Harry asked mentally. ' _What do I need to do?_ '

' _Just look into his eyes_.'

Harry nodded, walking straight towards the boy. Snape was casting spells and barking at students, scolding them for their varying states of inebriation. Narcissa was right behind him.

"There's Potter!" Montague slurred, laughing and pointing a finger. Flint's eyes found him and locked on with dark merriment.

"'Sup, Potter? How are things?" Flint grinned. Revulsion and rage battled within Harry.

'He is responsible. Hurt him.'

"They will be splendid in a moment," Harry breathed. "I believe we've got a score to settle."

Flint laughed harshly and looked around at his friends. "Oh, do we? And what are you gonna do, Potter? Poke me with your wand?"

Montauge banged his fist on the table repeatedly in mirth. Apparently, he was either that drunk or Harry was missing something funny. "No," Harry corrected. "I'm challenging you to the Dueling Pit. Right now, in fact. A grudge match."

That got everyone's attention. Snape finished casting his spells – a sobering charm, it seemed – and walked over. "Mr. Potter has come to me with his grievances and I have agreed to grant him this duel. The charges he holds against you are thus: assaulting a first year without provocation, usage of Dark spells against a housemate without warrant, and attempted murder of a housemate. How do you plead?"

The entire Common Room fell silent and Harry noticed a lot of wide eyes. He remained quiet and still, staring at the bastard in front of him.

Flint chuckled – chuckled! – at the charges. "Oh, I'm guilty, alright. And thanks, Potter, for keeping this in house. I get to beat the shit out of you and I won't get in trouble for it!"

"Quite the contrary," Narcissa spoke up from behind him. "As the parent of the child you assaulted, Harry is my choice to enact our family's vengeance. Harry will render you honorless in a matter of minutes."

"No one asked you, slag," Flint scowled. Harry couldn't believe his ears. Was the boy truly that dumb? Flint did not seem to be able to think ahead, at any rate. His disrespect was on display for the entire house. Who would deal with him after this?

No matter. More fuel to the fire.

"I get to name my stakes for this duel now, right?" Flint grinned predatorily. "Potter, after I destroy you, you will leave this school. I'm done dealing with you. I want you gone."

There were more than a few noises of discontent from the Slytherins. Harry looked around and saw several faces that did not agree – they wanted him here. Harry smiled as Snape looked to him. "And yours, Mr. Potter?"

His smile became a smile smirk and Harry looked down for a moment. His stake was a suggestion from Voldemort – a sure way to justly punish this idiot for his crimes while proving his merit to his house. This was going to be fun.

"I want two minutes," Harry whispered. "No one steps in. No one helps him. Two full, proper minutes to completely enact my revenge. I won't kill him. I won't permanently maim him. I promise nothing else."

"The big bad firstie! It's a deal," Flint snickered. The boy became serious as quickly as Longbottom ruined potions. "What I did to Malfoy is nothing compared to what I'll do to you."

He led the crowd out and down to the Pit, laughing uproariously with his friends. Harry ignored the doubting looks being thrown his way; that was the whole point of this fight…beyond giving an asshole the thrashing they deserved. He was going to display his…prowess.

_I want you to set an example._

"Potter, what happened? What are you doing?"

Harry looked up. Sykes. He smiled sneeringly at the boy and his doubtful expression. "Flint nearly killed Draco Malfoy, so I'm going to do the same to him. Do not worry about me."

"But Flint's a sixth year, Potter," Sykes protested. "It took me some luck to beat him. Are you sure you know what you are doing?"

It hit Harry very suddenly. It seemed that everyone overestimated themselves around here, including Felix Sykes. Harry growled in his throat and looked up at the Prefect.

"He doesn't even know what's coming – and neither do you. Watch and witness."

Harry turned and followed the crowd. He had a statement to make.

* * *

"You both know the rules so I will not waste time in recounting them. When I say, you may begin."

Harry widened his stance a bit, dropping his weight onto the balls of his feet. Flint stood opposite of him, still as sure of himself as he had been minutes ago. The arena seemed much deeper and larger inside, but that did not bother Harry. The flickering flames above were not their normal, reddish color, but instead a muted green. He assumed it was to signal the nature of the fight – whatever, it didn't matter.

Harry was angry. He was enraged, but he was also delighted. Seconds away, that little...sadistic steak within him would be unleashed. And Narcissa was watching on, anticipating suitable revenge for her son. He would exceed her expectations.

The crowd was silent, but electric. Anticipatory. Harry noticed his friends – Theo and Blaise – were sitting in the first row. They seemed nervous on his behalf.

Appreciated, but unnecessary.

"You may begin," Snape spoke strongly, dropping his hand. "Flint grinned harshly and shot off a blueish spell, speeding straight at him.

Let the example begin.

Harry raised his left arm – the one without his wand – and met the spell with his teeth bared. The energy of the spell hit him, but did not transfer; instead, Harry threw out his arm, batting the spell into the ground below him.

Oooooh, that got the Slytherins roaring.

"Holy shit!"

"How'd he do that?"

"I dunno, but he's Harry Potter!"

"He's a first year!"

Harry grinned maniacally. Flint was watching him now, but the smile was gone. The bravado was shot. Harry walked slowly forward.

"I'm going to hurt you, Flint," Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "You only have yourself to blame. You caused this."

' _Damn right he did_.'

"Fuck off, Potter! _Repulso_!"

Harry spun quickly out of the path of the spell. The orange curse sizzled as it hit the back wall. Flint was unnerved – the spell itself had told him as much. Harry laughed and _charged_.

Flint's eyes widened and he raised his wand once more. Harry, however, reached the boy before he could say a word. Driving his elbow into the boy's wrist, Harry knocked the wand out of Flint's grasp. Harry wrapped his arms around Flint's midsection and drove him back, back into the retaining wall. Harry reveled in the sound of teeth snapping together painfully and Flint's neck whipping, sending the back of his head cracking into the wall. The older boy grunted in pain as the Slytherins overhead gasped and peered down at them. Harry reached up, coiling his fingers around the boy's neck and _squeezing_.

Flint began choking immediately. His eyes looked down in panic and his hands clawed at Harry's shoulders. Harry was roaring with laughter. Flint was hopeless. Harry, however, had taken his own fate by the reins. The rituals. The studying. Voldemort. Harry reached down and found the results of that most recent ritual, lifting the other boy off his feet by his neck.

The Slytherins overhead were screaming, shouting, making general noises of discontent of outrage. Harry didn't care. Flint's neck was popping and squelching. The boy's eyes were unfocused and lolling about. Snape would step in soon.

Sure enough.

"Mr. Potter, you've won! Let him down!"

Harry let go at the Potions Master's words and Flint fell to the floor unconscious. Harry stepped back, grinning widely as he admired his work. Flint's neck was at an unnatural angle and the bruising around his collar bone was extensive. Professor Snape was casting spells on the boy at an alarming rate.

"You almost killed him," Snape said quietly, but Harry heard him.

"Yes," Harry agreed viciously. "And I'm not done. Rouse him, if you would. I'd like my two minutes now."

Snape turned sharply with wide eyes. "This was not enough for you? You humiliated the boy – and without magic. What else do you want from him?"

"Everything. Get him on his feet."

Harry walked away, finding Narcissa overhead and approaching her. "Any requests, Mrs. Malfoy? I'm going to be using magic for my two minutes of fun."

The Slytherins around her were horrified, stupefied, or impressed. A little of all three, it seemed. Whatever. Narcissa smiled. "It is up to you, Harry. Make it good."

"Oh, it will be," He beamed. Looking around, he addressed his housemates. "Are you entertained yet? Is this not what you wanted? I hope you are all learning something."

He swiveled back around and Snape was helping an unsteady Flint to his feet. The boy was watching him in a whole new light and Harry basked in it.

Flint was watching him with fear in his eyes.

"We're not done, yet," Harry murmured quietly. "Let's see how much I can break you, Flint."

Flint took a step backwards, looking around frantically for his wand. "I get it, Potter. You win. I'm sorry for what I did. Let me go, now."

Harry shook his head and laughed harshly. "Such a sudden change of heart! But no, Flint, I won't have you cheating yourself, you know. We all have to honor our commitments, don't we? I'm helping you, in the long run. Think of it as a learning experience. Are we ready, Professor?"

Snape was staring at him with that odd look. It wasn't horror, nor was it anticipation; it was somewhere in between. Eagerness, maybe? "You remember your promises?"

"Yes, yes," Harry impatiently waved his hand. "I won't kill him or permanently cripple him. Do you have the time?"

"Indeed. You may begin…now."

"Fantastic! _Crucio_!"

Flint fell and thrashed and screamed as the Slytherins overhead gasped and yelled. An Unforgiveable? This was Slytherin; who was going to tattle on him?

That marvelous feeling of euphoria was back. All his anger and hatred was funneled into the spell and unfiltered pleasure took up residence. The boy was clawing at the marble flooring, his fingernails peeling back from the quick in an effort to provide himself some relief. Harry dropped the spell with a laugh.

"Quick dose for ya, Flint! About fifteen seconds used up of my time, but I've got a lot more in store for you!"

He flicked his wand, staring straight at the prone Flint. A heavy, muggle item met his hands and the boy's eyes widened. "Have you ever seen one of these, Flint? I recall you mocking my upbringing in the past. I think the purpose of this is quite clear, so let me be plain – you fucked up Draco's knee, so I'm fucking up both of yours."

Harry stepped forward swiftly, bringing the sledgehammer he had conjured up above his head.

"N-no, wait! Please!"

Harry swung down hard.

CRACK!

Flint screamed and sobbed and screamed some more. The kneecap was shattered down in there somewhere. Harry didn't care. He shuffled his feet, repositioned the weapon on his shoulder, and brought it down once more.

CRACK!

This time, the sledgehammer had missed its target a bit. He hit the boy's thigh more than he had the knee, but he felt the bone give way regardless. Flint was screaming and yelling and making such interesting, spastic movements. Harry looked up for a moment to the crowd above. They were shocked. It seemed they were still caught up in the whole "first year" thing.

"Crucio!"

Flint was thrashing once more, screams tearing themselves from his throat. Blood was seeping down the boy's trousers and the legs flapped around uselessly. Flint's right leg was almost turned completely around at the knee. Harry grinned and kept the spell up. He looked over to an expressionless Snape and tapped his wrist with a grin. Snape looked at his watch.

"Twenty-two seconds."

' _Voldemort, anything you'd like to add_?'

' _Sure. Make him look into your eyes_.'

Voldemort said that so softly that it made Harry's skin crawl. He cancelled the spell and reached down, forcing the boy to look up.

For a moment, nothing happened. Flint was sobbing, a blubbery mess, but then the boy's muscles clenched up and his body convulsed. Heaving sobs turned back to breathy screams. Harry was intrigued - what had Voldemort done? – but he stood once more.

"Five seconds."

' _Finish him_.'

"I hope you all have learned something, tonight!" Harry yelled. Flint's eyes were out of focus, but his face was directed at the dark ceiling. Harry stomped down. Hard.

And then he turned heel, and left.

Example made.

* * *

Lucius was there to open the door for him. Harry swept inside without a word, going straight to Draco's side. The boy's head was wrapped in white gauze and there was only a speck of red adorning it. Draco's eyes were closed, but fluttered open as Harry drew near.

Grey eyes watched him. Harry tried his hardest not to fidget or scrunch his face.

"Ha—rry," Draco's voice came out hoarse and with a gurgle. It made Harry's stomach lurch. "T-hank you."

Draco raised his right arm from where he lay, clearly expecting a handshake. Harry shook his head with a nearly hysterical chuckle. He leaned down and tentatively encircled Draco's shoulders with his arms. "We're family, right Draco? That's what you said; you're my brother, and I'll fight for you with everything I've got."

Draco exhaled quickly – what that meant, Harry had no clue – but sleep caught up with the boy, and Harry moved away gently. Draco was alive and on the mend. They had dodged a bullet of epic proportions tonight.

"He had a concussion, a lacerated lung, a fractured skull, a broken kneecap, and much, much more," Lucius murmured from behind him. Harry turned sharply to see the man staring at his son with a look that resembled mourning. "And that was after you healed him. I would no longer have a son if it weren't for you, Harry. You have my…most sincere, most heartfelt gratitude. I cannot thank you enough."

Harry shook his head. "As far as I'm concerned, we're family, Lucius. Anything that I can do for Draco, I will."

Lucius did not acknowledge his statement. "I trust Flint has been…dealt with?"

Harry chuckled softly. "Let me put it this way – you won't be seeing Snape for a while."


	20. We Wish You a Merry Christmas

"It's Christmas, Harry! Wake up!"

Harry's head swam in its sudden consciousness as he blearily cracked open his eyes. He shut them quickly, flinching and knocking his head against the headboard as a beaming Draco landed on top of him. Draco continued grinning, despite Harry's mutinous expression.

Fucking Draco and his early mornings.

Harry turned his head and coughed slightly, his throat still dry from sleep. "Was that really necessary, Draco?"

"Yep," Draco affirmed, rolling off of him. "But come on! We've got presents to open!"

Oh, right. Christmas. That was a thing around here. Harry budged over to his left and his bare feet met the rug and he sighed, rubbing his hand against his face and through his hair. Christmas…had never been something he had celebrated at the orphanage. The Wizarding World was crazy about it, it seemed, all despite very few practicing the religion it was associated with.

Picking at the sleep that lingered at the corner of his eye, Harry looked up to see Draco waiting expectantly. "You more than me, I'd wager," Harry finally answered, standing and looking down slightly at his friend. That was new as well; he was now an inch or so taller than Draco – and Draco was fairly tall for his age.

"You'd be surprised," Draco said, giving him an odd look. With that, Draco turned and started to walk out of the room.

Harry frowned, his head still a bit fuzzy from sleep, but sidled up to Draco's side in case he need help down the stairs. It had been nearly three weeks since the fight with Flint – well, if you could call it that – and Draco was still having a few problems with his health. They were all very minor, though, and Flint was still having trouble walking, so Harry was content. And now it was Christmas, a day that he had never really celebrated before, but the Malfoys had dressed their manor up for the holidays. Despite Harry's initial awkwardness, it was all festive and glorious and he had been in a great mood ever since winter break had started a week ago.

As for the two weeks he had spent at Hogwarts post-fight…well, they had been very peculiar. Snape would not speak to him – though to be fair, Snape was probably angry about the damage and subsequent work Harry had caused him. It certainly was not an easy task putting Flint back together. Flint had not spoken to him, either; instead, the older boy avoided him entirely. Most of the Slytherins seemed to follow his lead in that regard. Very few of them wanted to talk to him, and even fewer stayed in the common room when he was around. It was the second and third year Slytherins who had approached him, mainly. Everything he had done was apparently cool to them.

Harry found that fairly amusing.

The upper years were the ones who really steered clear of him – whether that was because they were siding with Flint or because they realized the extent of the damage Harry had dealt, he was not sure – but he had never really spoken to many of them. Except Sykes, and even Sykes had been wary of him.

And then there were the first years…Theo, Blaise, and Draco now stuck to him wherever he went. Harry wasn't sure why, exactly; he appreciated it, certainly, but their rationale escaped him. He just wished he could visit the loo without one of them following him.

"Harry and Draco – a Merry Christmas to you both."

Harry removed his hand from Draco's side (Draco had been taking the stairs heel-first to help with his knee) and looked up at a smiling Narcissa Malfoy who held two mugs outwards for them to take. Draco's mother was dressed in an exotically white furred robe. Her hair was down and her husband sat near the enormous Christmas tree taking up the majority of the Malfoy's main living room. Lucius' hair was slightly disheveled (or as disheveled as a person with such long hair could be) and there was some stubble tracing his jawline – both signs of an early morning – but he smiled slightly at the two boys.

"You always call for us too early on Christmas, Draco," His father scolded mildly. "The sun's barely past the horizon."

Harry huffed to himself quietly. As a person who liked to sleep in, he agreed wholeheartedly.

"It's never too early for gifts," Draco stated matter-of-factly, accepting a mug from his mug. "Besides, if you're not getting up for Christmas, what day _are_ you getting up for?"

Harry plopped down beside Lucius and the man reached up to rub at his neck. "Can't argue with that, can we, Harry?"

"Of course I can," He muttered dryly, sipping at his mug. It was hot chocolate, and it was magnificent.

"Harry," Draco nearly whined. "Presents!"

Harry rolled his eyes in response as Lucius nodded to his son, snapping his fingers twice. A house elf appeared next to him.

"Sort our gifts," Lucius said, his eyes never meeting the elf's as he took a drink from his own goblet; the elf scrambled to comply.

"You two slept well, I hope?" Narcissa asked. Draco beamed and answered freely. Harry leaned back to watch the elf work.

It was levitating gifts one at a time to the feet of its recipient. It was working quickly. One for Draco. Another for Draco. Two, three for Narcissa. A box for Lucius and several envelopes.

One for Harry. Another for Harry. Three, four, five.

A strange feeling fluttered in his stomach and Harry wasn't sure if he liked it. He almost felt sick, to be honest. He…he had not expected to receive anything. Well, maybe a trinket or two – he had saved Draco's life, right? – but not this. He had not expected the almost ritualistic process, the wrapped gifts with bows and letters. Draco was watching him from where he sat on the plush rug, grinning as his gifts surrounded him like a fortress.

"Pretty cool, right, Harry?"

Harry's throat was dry, so he took another gulp from his mug. "Yeah. It's wicked."

He had presents. Plural!

Thirteen! And all in different colored wrappings. One was purple, another yellow. Stars and stripes and tiny Golden Snitches zooming around the paper.

"So who's first?" Lucius finally asked. Draco did not bother to respond, he just started ripping at the package closest to him. Harry grinned and followed suit.

* * *

Harry's jaw was starting to hurt. He had been smiling for nearly an hour so far, opening presents left and right. And what a time he was having. Five of the gifts were from the Malfoy family. From Lucius, he received several books (two of which featured some truly intriguing Dark spells), and a truly exquisite pocket watch. Apparently, it was a wizarding tradition for the father to provide a pocket watch to his son upon reaching adolescence. Harry was sincerely touched that he had provided him one.

From Narcissa, all the personal grooming products he could ever need: shampoos, conditioners, magical hair wax and lotions. A magical pair of nail clippers. When Draco had ranted to him about the proper way to mousse one's hair, Harry had lost it. But all the same, another wonderful and practical gift.

Draco's gift was probably the best among them all. Apparently the boy had noticed that he was still wearing his old trainers. And in case it was not obvious, it was bloody cold at Hogwarts this time of year. There were a few days when he had been forced to trudge out in the snow in the ratty things, his feet freezing and growing wet with every step. That would be the case no longer, thanks to Draco. Draco had gotten him a pair of rich, soft leather boots that reached his lower calf. Several charms were infused into the soles of the boots, according to Draco, that would keep the leather dry and keep his feet warm.

Harry had put them on immediately and had no intentions of taking them off anytime soon.

Fred and George had sent him some joke candy from Zonko's with a written plea to use them on some Slytherins next term. With them was a book – something that surprised Harry, especially from the twins – but the book housed many interesting spells. It had apparently been George's but he had wanted to pass the book on.

Cedric had bought him a guitar. Why? Harry was not sure, but Narcissa thought the gift was great. With it, however, was a note from Cedric explaining the Hufflepuff's rationale. Apparently, Cedric had been taught to play guitar by his mother when he was a child. The guitar was brand new and Cedric planned to teach him to play it.

Another heartstring-pulling gift. Ho hum.

Royce Beeler sent along some under padding for Quidditch as well as a pair of Quidditch gloves, enchanted to stay warm despite inclimate weather. Theo and Blaise sent along some candies and books – hell, even Daphne Greengrass had sent him a gift! And through all of it, Harry's emotions frayed. He was happy, sure…overjoyed, even.

But he had not gotten gifts for anyone. The thought had not even entered his mind. He felt like he owed all of them: the Malfoys, Draco, Cedric, Fred and George. He'd do something for them all to make it up eventually.

Harry sighed slightly and turned his sights to his final gift. It was a small parcel, but it was wrapped in shining silver paper with a large, red bow. Harry picked it up and placed on his lap, plucking the bow off the top. He unwrapped it slowly, and a silvery material slithered to the floor. Lucius snatched it from the floor before it could even settle there, bringing it to his face to examine closely.

"Remarkable," Lucius muttered at last. "But who would send you this?"

Harry turned to an equally puzzled Draco.

"What is it, father?" Draco asked.

"A Cloak of Invisibility," His father answered in a quiet voice. "Very rare, very valuable, and even more useful."

Looking down, Harry noticed something. "There's a note," He said suddenly, picking up the parchment and unfolding it. He gazed down at the flowing writing and read the following words:

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you are having a very Merry Christmas. I must confess that I am not in the habit of sending gifts to my students, but when I consider this scenario and to whom this item belonged in particular, it is only just that I return it to its rightful owner. It is my hope that you will use this item and cherish it well._

_I would also like to apologize, Harry, for how long your request at the beginning of term has been delayed. As reluctant as I am to use my profession as a point of complication, that has sadly been the case. If you are still interested, however, you are more than welcome to visit me come the beginning of term where we shall finalize all the sordid details. Of late, I have found myself planning ahead for our meetings and I have thought of a few branches of magic that might interest you. Although it has been a while since I have had a pupil, I find myself excited at the prospect of teaching once more. I urge you (if you have not already done so) to look into whatever fields of magic tickle your fancy; hopefully, we both learn a few things over the coming months._

_But back to your gift, for a moment. Your father left it in my possession several weeks before he passed away. It is a most ingenious item the likes of which I have rarely seen – in when you consider all the time I've had, that's saying something. It is the only item of your father's that I have, but as I stated earlier, it belongs to you._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. Candy Canes are a peculiar type of sugary treat, aren't they? Both seasonal and celebratory – I find myself partial to them._

Harry's eyes widened and he reached for the hem of the Invisibility Cloak. "It was my father's, apparently," He whispered. Harry was not sure why that impacted him so much – he was by no means sentimental. But for some reason, having a physical item of his parents' made them real. It made them physical, living individuals who had gone to school and interacted with others.

And died.

' _I wish I had known James Potter had owned that. I would have liked to have it_.'

Ah. And there was the man that had killed him.

' _A little early to be spitting on the graves of the dead, isn't it, Voldemort?_ ' Harry said to him, his mood darkening.

' _Seeing as I lack a physical body at the moment, I'm assuming you are speaking figuratively_.'

' _Fuck off_ ,' Harry stated internally. ' _Seriously. You think now's the time to go cracking jokes at their expense?_ '

A pause. ' _I was under the impression that your parents did not mean much to you, Harry._ '

' _I thought so too!_ ' Harry groaned internally. ' _But they're my parents, you know? I never used to think about them, but now I've got something from them_.'

"Lessons from…Dumbledore?" Lucius muttered questioningly, looking up from the letter at Harry. "I'm…not so sure that that is a smart decision."

There was a peculiar look on Lucius' face. Oh, right; he _knew_.

"Harry, you hardly need them," Narcissa smiled gently, but her eyes were fierce. Draco nodded as well; his parents had made sure to show Draco the fight. Draco had thought it was brilliant.

"Thanks," Harry grinned. "But I asked him for lessons earlier in the year and he's finally agreed. If I can learn anything new, it'll be worth it."

Lucius did not appear happy, but with another look at Harry, he nodded slowly.

"How about you two run along and try out your new possessions?" He suggested. "I'll call for an elf to move them upstairs."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Draco. "Let's go!"

And that was how the rest of the morning passed for Harry. He took his new boots off for a few minutes to take a shower – with his new shampoo - and Draco had insisted on showing him how to style his hair with the wax. He looked like a porcupine, he thought, but both Draco and Narcissa were complimentary of the…style. "Very dashing," Narcissa had said. "It looks handsome and windswept."

Lucius had smirked, but said nothing.

Food was brought up by the house elves to Harry and Draco while the former fiddled with his new guitar. There were so many strings – how did people make music with the bloody things?

Draco was still in an exuberant mood. He was toying with this and fiddling with that, chattering away happily throughout it all. Harry could not bring himself intrude on his friend's good mood, but how was he to apologize for not getting the boy a gift when he could barely look him in the eye?

It was all very awkward for Harry, but Draco did not seem to mind at all. The boy was trying on his new cloak with glee.

Harry blamed the guitar.

Thankfully, Lucius picked that awkward lull to knock on the door. Draco turned around, beaming.

"It fits very well, thank you, father."

Lucius smiled with satisfaction and leaned against the threshold. "Of course it does, but of course, Draco. Would you like to have your lesson before lunch?"

Harry perked up at that. Lucius and Draco had been having "lessons" ever since they had arrived on winter break. Neither of them had really commented on it and Harry had not seen fit to bring it up.

He was curious, though; he was Harry Potter, after all.

"Sure," Draco nearly chirped. He looked over to Harry. "Right here?"

Lucius removed his wand from his sleeve. "I don't see why not. Harry has seen magic before, haven't you, Harry?"

Harry snorted, but set the guitar aside. "No, actually; I thought it was all a dream."

Lucius smirked and ducked his head slightly before raising his wand. "Alright then, Draco. The neutral spells first, if you would."

Draco stretched his arms overhead for a moment before dropping them to his sides and shaking them. He retrieved his own wand from the innards of his robes.

"Expelliarmus!" Draco cried with a flourish.

The red spell crackled out of his wand moments after he finished the incantation. It shot forth like an arrow, but was quickly and emphatically subdued by the shield that Lucius had conjured.

"Another," Lucius said quietly.

"Deprimo!"

"Confundo!"

"Tarantallegra!"

"Rictusempra!"

"Locomotor Mortis!"

"Confringo!"

"Reducto!"

"Diffindo!"

The spells zipped and bobbed and swirled, weaving magic into the air. Draco cast a Tripping Jinx and Jelly-Legs Jinx as well, but all were thwarted by the shield that Lucius stood behind. It was like a dark gray wall, Harry noticed. But there was something else that caught his attention as well, something in Draco's spellwork that stood out like a sore thumb; he was too slow. Or rather, the spells were just not coming out correctly…however that was happening. Harry could not really say, but he knew that Draco was plenty powerful.

And the boy's current spellwork was not living up to that billing.

' _The boy is much too sloppy with his wand – everything is too slow and wide_ ,' Voldemort stated scathingly.

Oh. So that's what it was. It made sense, though; Harry had only ever seen Draco cast spells one at a time in class where he was more deliberate with his wand work. The spells came out much more powerfully.

To be fair, Lucius' shield seemed impeccable.

"Passable," Lucius acknowledged, dropping his shield with a bit of a sigh. "You still require work on transitioning between spells. That will help your spellcasting greatly."

' _He simply needs to work on his wand work in general. He would be destroyed in any competitive duel_.'

"I have been!" Draco exclaimed. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong!"

' _What should he be doing?_ ' Harry asked. ' _What would help him improve?_ '

Voldemort was silent for a moment. ' _Do you remember when we first discussed magical theory in our meeting within the Forbidden Forest and how runes are involved in the creation and usage of spells? Tell him_.'

Harry did remember it – quite clearly, in fact. Spells were made from runes. Lucius was instructing Draco on the proper way to cast the Blasting Hex and Draco seemed to be quickly growing frustrated.

"Er – could I suggest something?"

Draco and Lucius both looked up, with varying levels of exasperation on their faces. Harry withheld a smirk with difficulty.

"I have done a lot of reading on spell creation and theory," Harry continued. "And I do know that spells are generally created with the aid of runes. That's what most wand movements are, after all. Do you think that would help Draco at all, sir?"

Draco blinked and looked up at his father. Lucius appeared as if he had been slapped.

"I cannot believe I did not think of that," Lucius muttered quietly. "Come, Draco; we're going to the office."

"You don't mind if I borrow Harry, then, do you Lucius?"

Narcissa walked in – now in a lovey set of red robes – and smiled at the three wizards.

"Of course, my love," Lucius tucked his arm around Draco's shoulders. "Draco and I shall be in the study if you need us."

Narcissa kissed her husband on the cheek and the two Malfoy males left the room in a rush, leaving Harry with the Malfoy he was least acquainted with.

Narcissa Malfoy did not seem that foreign, though. Her vicious protective nature had made itself known recently, but the woman was sweet and gentle when she was unprovoked.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," She smiled to him.

Case and point.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry grinned. "Merry Christmas."

"You have certainly earned the right to use my first name, Harry," She said coyly. "And I wanted to take the time this holiday, now that you are with us, to provide you a different kind of education. Something all young witches and wizards should be taught."

Harry's eyebrows shot upwards. "And what would that be, exactly?"

She smiled mysteriously and clasped her hands behind her back. "You shall see. Follow me, please."

Harry cocked his head in puzzlement, but followed after her down the hallway. "Is this something you taught Draco?"

"Of course," She tossed over her shoulder. "Draco was instructed in this from the time he was six years old. It is a skill that any man or woman would be foolish to neglect learning."

He trailed after her down the balcony steps and into the entrance hall of the manor. Narcissa directed him to a door on the left, which opened as she approached it.

"Our ballroom," She announced silkily, sweeping a hand out as if to show it off.

Harry's first thought was that the ballroom was enormous. A dark, charcoal-colored tiled floor covered the expanse of the room and white walls encompassed the two of them. There were Corinthian columns – in the old, Greek style – here and there, and just enough color to make the ballroom charming. Harry looked up; the ceiling rose high and golden chandeliers hung low. There were so many that it made him feel as if his mind was playing tricks on him.

"Wow," Harry replied dumbly.

Narcissa laughed, holding her hand out. "Would you be so kind as to dance with me?"

Harry's eyes widened, shocked. "What? Why – I mean, I would if I knew how to – I couldn't possibly – "

' _Go on, Harry! Where are your manners? Declining do dance with a lady – what are we to do with you?_ ' Voldemort laughed uproariously. The man was _evil_.

' _Fuck off,_ ' Harry stated shortly.

"But that's why we are here," Narcissa smiled demurely. "I would like to teach you to dance, if you'd allow me. It would be such a privilege, I assure you."

Harry stood there for a moment, and became aware suddenly that his mouth had been open for an obscenely long amount of time. He just his jaw with a click.

"I-sure, Mrs. Malfoy," He said at last. "That would be great."

"Lovely. I must insist that you call me Narcissa whilst we are here, however," She said. "How well acquainted with music are you, Harry?"

"Er –"

"I see."

"I grew up in an orphanage," Harry argued awkwardly. "I didn't really have much."

Narcissa frowned. "I am so sorry to hear that."

"Oh, it's fine," Harry waved her off before the pity really got flowing. "It's in the past and your family has been amazing. Truly."

Narcissa's eyes sparkled and she retrieved her wand from her robes – a true feat, considering how form fitting those red robes on her were – and with a few waves of it, soft, melodic music echoed through the hall.

"I just want you to listen for a moment, Harry," Narcissa said. "Traditional wizarding music goes by a three count – do you hear it?"

Harry listened. It sounded like a whole orchestra was playing right across the hall. He rocked his head with the notes for a short time, trying to decipher the beat.

"It sounds so awkward," Harry observed. "I don't have much experience, but it sounds much different than Muggle music."

Narcissa made a noise of derision, so out of character for her. "Just listen. One, two, three. One, two three."

She kept repeating the count softly and Harry finally caught up with it. He soon found his right heel tapping along to each one-count.

"Do you think you are ready?"

Harry turned and looked at the woman before shrugging. "I hope so."

Narcissa smiled warmly. "Both Draco and Lucius tell me that you are athletic; that will help you here. But either way, I will guide you. Just remember to listen."

"What, to you?"

"To the music," She corrected him with a laugh. And with that, she took his hand.

"First, we must clasp hands like so – there you go – and now, place your right hand on my waist, if you would. Now, don't be shy…perfect. And I will place my left hand on your shoulder…and now we're ready to dance."

It all felt so clumsy to Harry. His palms were sweating and that made him feel self-conscious and just the nearness to another person made him uncomfortable. At least Narcissa's robe was soft.

God, what an awkward thought to have.

' _This is the most enjoyable thing I've ever witnessed_.'

' _Shut up._ '

"This is the most traditional dance position you will come across in the ballroom," Narcissa informed him. "And it will be the one we focus on for now. I'll lead you to start; are you ready?"

No, he wasn't. Within thirty seconds, Harry reckoned he had stepped on Narcissa's feet four times. She didn't seem to mind, though, and he got better. The three count was weird, but there was this lilt in the music and Harry noticed that all the new movements began on three counts. And so they twirled throughout the ballroom as the music changed, and the nerves started to fade away.

"So tell me about your childhood, Harry," Narcissa smiled. She had given Harry the lead, now.

Harry looked away awkwardly. "I don't really know what to tell. I don't remember anything before being dropped off in the orphanage. I was bullied when I was little and didn't have any friends. And then my magic started to show up and I realized I didn't need them. They stopped bullying me once I was able to do something about it."

Narcissa's expression was solemn. "I cannot believe you were not adopted. You are such a sweet child, and a very handsome one at that."

Harry grimaced, turning her in time to the beat despite being distracted. "I…didn't really want to be adopted. Not after…"

"After what?"

Harry's eyes met hers. "After this couple got scared of my magic.

"They were going to adopt me. I was really young – maybe four or five, I dunno – and I had just started to learn about my magic. And I wanted to impress them, you see? I wanted to make sure they liked me.

"They didn't," Harry finished with a small, helpless shrug. "I scared them and they ran away."

"Oh my goodness," Narcissa exclaimed. "Harry…I am so sorry."

"S'fine," He mumbled. "I'm over it. I didn't need them anyway."

They stopped dancing, and Narcissa hugged him warmly.

"You're a Malfoy now, I hope you know," Narcissa informed him. "Did you know that we are related?"

Harry looked up, removing his head from her breast. "Are we really?"

Narcissa smiled down. "My great-aunt married a Potter. I couldn't tell you which Potter that was, but it was probably your grandfather. It's not a close relation, but…"

"It's close enough," Harry let her know. "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

"You too, Narcissa."

"Ah, Harry! There you are!"

Harry stepped back suddenly as Lucius Malfoy led Patrick Fairview and Cornelius Fudge into the ballroom. Harry looked down to collect himself before smiling.

"Hello, Minister. Happy Christmas."

"To you as well, my boy!" Fudge beamed, fiddling with his bowler hat. "I wanted to drop by to give you my gift as well as to wish a Happy Christmas to Lady Malfoy! Narcissa, dear, you look wonderful."

"Thank you, Cornelius," Narcissa smiled.

"Anyway, Harry, here you go!"

Fudge held out a book – or at least it looked like a book – wrapped in coarse, brown paper for Harry to take. Looking up and receiving permission to open the gift, Harry was not the least bit shocked to see that the paper housed a book. On the Ministry. Yaaaaaay.

"Thank you very much, Minister," Harry forced a smile. "I haven't really gotten the chance to read up on the Ministry, yet. This will be very helpful."

"Of course, Harry, of course," Fudge winked. "And just so you know – if you would ever like a tour of my Ministry and any of its departments, don't even hesitate to ask! I'd love the opportunity to show you around!"

' _Fool_.'

"That'd be great, Minister Fudge. Thank you."

Fairview coughed harshly from behind the Minister of Magic and Fudge swirled around.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" He said. "Pat was telling me the other day that he's scavenged around and found some things regarding your, er, less than ideal upbringing. So that's why we're here! Er – Pat, would you like to take it from here?"

"Very much so, Minister," The journalist's pale eyes drank Harry in. It was all Harry could do not to recoil. "It turns out, Harry, that you have an aunt and uncle living in Surrey. The question that revelation poses, however, is this: we do not know who left you at that orphanage at the moment, but why were you not left with your own relatives?

"It was only too easy to find the information, after all," Fairview continued with a self-satisfied smile on his countenance. "It took me a few weeks, and I had no idea where to start."

Harry looked to Lucius; the man had a brow arched slightly.

"Were they – I mean, are they…y'know," Harry waved his hand for a moment. "Magical? Like us?"

"Muggles," Fairview stated gleefully.

"Oh."

His neck felt numb and his body jittery. It wasn't this grand revelation, but Harry's emotions were certainly conflicted. How does one cope with learning they have relatives, after all this time?

But they were Muggles. He did not like Muggles.

Were they even worth knowing?

"While I am here," Fairview continued, stepping forward suddenly. "What do you say about an interview, Harry? I wanted to write that feature story about you and it would be a marvelous read for the Magical community."

"Er – "

' _Do it.'_

' _See, there you go again_ ,' Harry nearly threw his arms up in exasperation. ' _Why do you keep doing this?_ '

' _Because it will benefit you. Do as I say_.'

"Sure," Harry grimaced. "That'd be great."

Fairview smiled predatorily. Voldemort had better know what he was doing.

* * *

' _I can't believe it_ ,' Harry finally sighed, his head meeting his pillow at last. ' _I have relatives; I have an uncle and aunt_.'

' _A Muggle aunt and uncle, in case you have forgotten._ '

' _Yeah, but that's not really my point_ ,' Harry huffed, squirming to get comfortable. _'What bothers me is that I have relatives, and yet I was thrown into that orphanage anyway_.'

' _And so the fault lies with some currently unnamed individual_.'

' _Exactly. Cannot forget you, though_.'

' _Oh? And what role do I play in any of this?_ '

' _Uh, you killed my parents_ ,' Harry said slowly, as if it were obvious.

' _I killed lots of people –'_

' _What a marvelous defense that is_ ,' Harry replied scathingly. ' _You were simply doing what you did, back then; you know, murdering families and ruining lives_.'

Harry was lashing out; he knew it. They had been over all of this, but what was he supposed to do? He had a Dark Lord residing in the back of his skull, he had Muggle relatives whose names he did not even know, and he had very few he could trust. The Minister of Magic was after him, Voldemort was _in_ him, Dumbledore was around…

He did not feel safe. Could he trust Voldemort? Really? And what would happen when the man got that stone of whatever that he wanted? Was he safe?

' _Simply slanderous_ ,' Voldemort chuckled darkly. ' _It has never been my intention to murder any of the magical population. Muggles outnumber us by the thousands, Harry! Why would I damage the society that I am trying to empower? Any that I've killed died opposing me. Your parents opposed me quite frequently. It's that simple. I am both merciful and understanding, Harry. The victors are always given the opportunity to write history. They labeled me a villain for usurping their mediocrity. Am I evil, Harry? Is an attempt to improve the magical population's stock "evil" in nature?_ '

' _The orphanage never happens if you don't do to me what you did!_ ' Harry cried. ' _All the suffering –'_

' _Suffering?_ ' Voldemort countered quietly. ' _I've lived a cursed existence since your little "accident," Harry. I've been stripped of my magic, isolated from my followers, left to suffer in my own Purgatory. Do not fucking play the pity game with me, Potter! Not after everything I've done for you. I've given you fame, I've personally trained you, and I've saved you pitiful friend's life! It was never my intention to kill your parents, but I will not allow some snotty, demanding, eleven year-old brat attempt to hold that over me!_ '

The silence was deafening.

' _Do you believe in God?_ '

Voldemort paused. ' _I have never met the fellow, so invariably my answer is no._ '

' _I used to pray to him_ ,' Harry said quietly. ' _Every night. I asked for help, I begged for it, even. It never happened. Or maybe that's what my magic is. I don't know_.'

He sighed slowly. ' _I figure, though, that he either doesn't care, or he's so far removed from us that he doesn't even hear my pleas. But there has to be a God, right? Look at the world around us! You could argue that we are from wherever, but how do you explain magic? It's…wonderful, and so different from everything else. When I started reading about Dark Magic, I prayed to him again. I asked for guidance. He gave me none. I'm alone, Voldemort; there's no one who really cares about me, save three or four people. I have no guidance, no one to worship. No one who's going to help me. I accepted that a long time ago, actually_.'

' _You can worship me_ ,' Voldemort murmured quietly. ' _I am more tangible than any God out there. I will guide you. I will protect you_.'

' _Ah, but do you deserve my worship?_ ' Harry chuckled humorlessly. ' _Whatever. Merry Christmas, Voldemort._ '

'… _.Merry Christmas_.'

Harry then turned over, his thoughts swirling away from him. And he fell asleep, his new pair of boots still on his feet under the covers.


	21. Eavesdropping is Fun

_**The Boy-Who-Speaks: Harry Potter is Back** _

_**By: Patrick Fairview** _

_If you do not know who the Boy-Who-Lived is…where have you been?_

_It is perhaps the greatest story in the history of Wizarding Britain, one that supersedes any childhood fantasy or fairy tale. One small boy, at the age of one, vanquished the most powerful Dark wizard in decades. And the history of that night, the night of Halloween ten years ago, is still shrouded in mystery; no one is alive to tell us the tale, after all. No one, except the Boy-Who-Lived himself, Harry Potter._

_Potter himself, wears mystery like a cloak. Nary has a word been reported on the young wizard since that tragic, triumphant night. It has all been speculation. It's enough to make one curious about where the boy has been._

_If I told you, would you believe it? Would you believe me if I told you that the home of Harry Potter is a Muggle orphanage?_

_It's hard to fathom, but if you look at the facts, an orphanage is almost a logical location. Orphaned? Check. No relatives? Check._

_But it's the Boy-Who-Lived. Surely we could offer him something better?_

_However, that is all in the past; Harry Potter is now enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_So how has your life been, Mr. Potter?_

" _It's been okay," The eleven year-old said with a smile in an exclusive interview with_ The Daily Prophet _. "Being in an orphanage is certainly not ideal, but I've made a bunch of friends at Hogwarts and it's made everything so much better. I'm staying with a friend right now on winter break."_

_But really? An orphanage? How does that happen?_

" _I really couldn't tell you," Potter said. "It was not fun, I'll admit. But ever since I learned about magic, my life has been amazing and I could not be happier."_

_You might want to read that again; even now as I write, I have difficulty believing it. The Boy-Who-Lived grew up away from the world that he rescued. The savior knew nothing of his heritage._

" _And before you ask, no, I don't remember anything about that night. I did not even know what happened until a few months ago. I just figured my parents did not want me or something," Potter said. "A few families considered adopting me, but that never happened either. Honestly, I am so thankful that all of this is real. I feel like I could wake up back at that orphanage at any minute."_

_The ten years of peace and prosperity is almost enough to make us pinch ourselves, as well. But now Harry Potter has stepped into his famed spot, and speculation of his magical prowess has been thrown about for a decade. Although Hogwarts refuses to disclose the marks of its students, the word out of the Scottish school is that Potter has performed quite well._

" _I don't think I've made anything less than an 'Exceeds Expectations' so far," Potter smiled. "But I do a lot of research on my own; magic is such a gift and I think anyone who's been forced to live without it will feel the same way. I want to learn everything I can."_

_Not only has Potter performed in the classroom, but he's found another outlet for his magical success: the Quidditch pitch._

_Potter was selected for the Slytherin Quidditch team as a Seeker, this fall, the youngest Seeker to play at Hogwarts in 106 years. Slytherin won its first match, 240-170._

" _Quidditch is fun; our match with Gryffindor was a tough one and the Gryffindor keeper Oliver Wood is brilliant," Potter said. "We were able to scrape by and get the victory, though, and I look forward to getting back to playing soon."_

_According to Potter, he has found a mentor at his chosen position as well: Winbourne Wasps Seeker Royce Beeler._

" _Mr. Beeler helped me out a lot," Potter said. "Coming from the Muggle world as I did, I knew next to nothing about flying and Quidditch. He dropped by and showed me a few things that made everything click; I was able to catch the Snitch in that match, and I would not have been so lucky without him."_

_If knowing and training with a professional Seeker were not enough, Potter has also found another friend in the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge._

" _I met Harry Potter only a few weeks ago, but the impression the boy has made on me is profound," Minister Fudge said. "He is a brilliant boy and he often understates his own abilities. He's a prodigy; there's simply no other word for it. I look forward to watching him grow into the man he will become."_

_Surviving Unforgivable Curses, shaking hands with the Minister of Magic, and going one-on-one with professional Seekers: all in a day's work for the Boy-Who-Lived. However, the shadow of his past looms large and his current residence leaves much to be desired. Despite this, Potter remains positive and looks ahead._

" _Honestly, I'm just excited," Potter said. "I've still got seven years of magical schooling to look forward to, and then I can find something else to occupy my time, I guess. I've met several witches and wizards and they have all been so kind to me. My life is looking up. I'm happy. I'm truly happy."_

* * *

Harry set the _Daily Prophet_ down in favor of looking around the Entrance Hall. It was the first day back from winter break and everyone was particularly chatty this morning. He did notice several people looking at him, however, from some students to Headmaster Dumbledore himself. It looked like he wasn't the only one who had gotten the _Prophet_ today.

Speaking of the _Prophet_ …where was the letter that had come with the paper this morning? Ah, there it was – right beside his pumpkin juice:

_Mr. Potter,_

_I'd like to thank you once again for allowing me to interview you for the Prophet. The feature has gotten a lot of attention in the newsroom and the response has been very positive. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading it._

_If you were at all curious as to why I omitted the small detail of your Muggle aunt and uncle in the story, I did so at Minister Fudge's insistence. I am still digging into the details of your childhood and I've got to tell you, there's a lot of interesting details here and there – and most of them are troubling. According to the records within the Ministry of Magic, your name was never submitted to the Department for the Protection of Wizarding Youth upon your parents' passing. This department should have directly dealt with your care, but they never even had custody of you. Like I said, it is both troubling and exciting. Someone has not only done wrong here, but they've committed a crime. Someone has severely wronged you, and I relish the opportunity to air their dirty laundry to the entire community. Justice, thy name is journalism._

_I think that's it for now. I'll be sure to keep you updated on the response from your article; I wouldn't be surprised if there are multiple families right now banging on the Ministry's door for the chance to adopt you!_

_Most sincerely,_

_Patrick Fairview_

"Harry, stop reading and tell Theo that I'm right!"

Harry lowered the letter slightly and raised an eyebrow. "About what, Draco?"

Draco smirked a bit and eyed Theo who rolled his eyes and stabbed a sausage on his plate.

"Theo says that I'm lying about the essay Snape assigned over the holidays that's due today, but I'm not! Tell him!" The blond boy demanded.

Harry cocked his head. "You mean the twenty-four inch essay that Professor Snape assigned on the properties of indigestible potions?" Draco nodded rapidly with a satisfied gleam in his eyes and Theo began to look a bit nervous. Harry grinned and looked to Theo. "Draco's lying. There was only the one essay that we got done before we left."

"Thank god," Theo muttered as Draco threw his hands into the air, whining about people spoiling his fun. "You had me there for a moment."

"If you'd just write things down," Blaise trailed off with a bit of amusement. Theo scoffed. "And have to get my ink well back out and uncapped? No thanks. Besides, I have you to do it for me!"

Harry checked the clock hanging in the Great Hall, took an extra swig from his goblet, and stood up. "Come on; we've got Herbology in fifteen minutes."

Blaise deftly stole a sausage from Theo's plate which incited a small argument, but soon enough the four Slytherins were on their way to their first class of the term.

Or rather, four was now nine. Ever since the fight with Flint, all of the first year Slytherins followed him to class. Daphne would talk to him every now and then, but Parkinson and Bulstrode would follow far behind Harry's group, never trying to interact with them. Crabbe and Goyle were their own disaster, but the whole following thing discontented him a bit. The one thing that never changed was Draco walking beside him.

There was a fresh batch of snow blanketing the Hogwarts landscape and a harsh northerly wind whistled through the air, but none of this bothered Harry. His new boots kept his feet blissfully warm and he wrapped his scarf a bit tighter around his neck, enjoying the slightly overcast morning.

"Hagrid, I just don't understand how that is a good idea at all!"

"Blimey, Hermione, the little thing isn't gonna hurt anyone. It's just a little tyke, really!"

"Little tyke? Hagrid, really, that thing should not be in the castle. I've read loads about them, and they're supposed to be really dangerous!"

Harry's (ritually enhanced) ears perked up at the conversation; none of the other Slytherins had heard any of that. What was there that was dangerous inside the castle? Would he pass up the opportunity to find out?

Of course not.

"I'm going to double back and hit the loo," Harry spoke up loudly. "Why don't you all head to Herbology? I'll be there in a minute."

"Of course you will," Parkinson muttered scathingly.

"Did I stutter, Parkinson?" Harry asked, his tone much milder than the words. "Go ahead and save me a spot, Draco; I won't be long."

Draco looked a bit confused, but nonetheless he took the lead in trudging the group of Slytherins down towards the greenhouses. Harry, instead, snuck over to the edge of the courtyard, ducking into a nook that was guarded by a statue. He peeked out to his left and spotted Hogwarts' resident mammoth of a Gameskeeper, Hagrid, speaking with two Gryffindor first years, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom.

Hagrid was by far – by _far_ – the largest person Harry had ever seen. The man was easily head and shoulders taller than any grown wizard and at least twice as big a round.

"But I've got Dumbledore's permission, Hermione," Hagrid was saying. "He was actually the one ter come up with the idea, as a matter o' fact. I lent Fluffy ter him ter guard – "

"Yes" Granger insisted. "To guard what?"

"I shouldn'tve told yeh tha'," The giant man countered roughly. "Don't you two worry yer little heads over it, right? I've got work to do today; yeh best be off to class, now."

"But Hagrid, we just want to help," Longbottom protested feebly. "We're your friends."

"Of course yeh are," Hagrid chuckled. "Ev'rything's fine, see? Go to class, okay?"

"Fine. See you Hagrid," Granger sighed and the giant trudged off.

"Can you believe him? Honestly, it's enough to make anyone mad," Granger wheeled on Longbottom. "But now at least we know why it's there – "

"Fluffy," Longbottom interjected faintly.

"Pardon?"

"Its name is Fluffy, remember?"

"Oh, and that's another thing," Granger huffed. "How on earth could Hagrid name such a foul creature? It's got three heads!"

Three heads? Only one creature came to mind that fit that description: a Cerberus. But why the hell would one of those be inside a school?

"But it's guarding something," Granger continued on. "And what that is, exactly, we don't know yet."

Hmmm…why was he still hiding?

"Actually, I may have an idea."

Harry stood up smoothly and relished their shocked faces. "Come now, a courtyard is no place for a private conversation."

"Potter!" Granger spat his name out as if in accusation. Harry smirked – he knew the girl did not like him. That probably was a twofold issue, actually; firstly, she must remember their meeting on the train way back in September. Also, Harry was the top of the entire first year class and both of them knew it.

"Yep," Harry chirped. "That's my name. So there's a Cerberus in the school, is there? You wouldn't know why that is, would you?"

Granger folded her arms across her chest and looked away stubbornly. Harry felt a twinge of anger; what was this girl's problem?

Oh well. Longbottom was another option.

"Did you guys see one?" Harry asked the boy. "That must have been horrifying."

Neville nodded timidly. "We got lost last term and ran into it in that corridor Professor Dumbledore warned us about. It was really big and scary."

"Neville!" Granger scolded. She turned her attention to Harry. "Well? You said you knew what it was guarding. What is it, then?"

Harry smirked and raised a finger. "I said I may have an idea – you remember when that robber broke into Gringotts last summer? You think that may have something to do with it?"

Voldemort had told him all about that day. He had been hoping to steal the Philosopher's Stone before going to Hogwarts – Quirrell had just started disobeying him at that time; it was a bit of a desperate attempt, Harry thought.

Granger's expression changed and her eyes lit up. "It could be! Think about it, Neville! Hagrid's always told us that Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain and Dumbledore's the most powerful wizard alive! It all fits!"

Good Lord, she really knew how to get off on a tangent, didn't she?

"Professor Sprout told me she ordered extra Devil's Snare before the break," Longbottom offered. "I don't know what she'd do with it – there's no room in any of the greenhouses. Do you think that might be part of it, too?"

"Of course! Why didn't I think of it before!" Granger exclaimed. "If Dumbledore's protecting whatever this object is, why would he stop at one guard? There would have to be more! So that would mean – OH MY GOODNESS!"

Harry jumped slightly. He had been considering the Devil's Snare comment; it actually wasn't a bad thought.

"We're going to be late for class! Come on, Neville! Oh, Professor McGonagall is going to kill us!"

Harry watched bemusedly as the girl grabbed Longbottom's hand and nearly dragged him off to the castle. She turned rather suddenly, however.

"That article in the Prophet today," She said, an inquisitiveness taking over her features. "Was it true?"

Harry only nodded.

"Everything in it was true?" She pressed. "The orphanage, being raised like me…all of it?"

"Yep," Harry stated.

Granger stared at him for a moment before finally taking off back to the castle. Harry watched the two of them go in silence.

' _Devil's Snare, eh?_ '

Harry looked around the snowy courtyard. It was very pretty – not that he'd ever say so. ' _Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. It makes sense, right?_ '

' _I already knew about the Cerberus, but I know nothing else. It does follow logic, however; Quirrell was expected to offer his own protection of the Philosopher's Stone…when he was alive, of course. I doubt it is still there_.'

' _That means Snape probably knows about some of it, right?_ ' Harry asked.

Voldemort was silent for a short time, but suddenly started chuckling. ' _Very good point; we're getting somewhere, Harry. Now we're getting somewhere_.'

* * *

"Erm….candy canes."

Harry grimaced as he said it; there was no way that was the wizard's password. But sure enough the obscenely large stone gargoyle hopped aside and the wall split in two, revealing a majestic, moving spiral staircase. The wall closed behind him and Harry looked up, watching as the door above him grew closer with every spin of the staircase. Harry stepped off finally as the spiral staircase slowed to a stop in front of a large, oak door with a brass, griffin-shaped knocker.

He'd been to Dumbledore's office a few times, but this was only the second time by way of the staircase. The first time, he had asked for lessons. This time, he was getting his wish. Harry knocked several times with the knocker.

"Come in, Harry!"

Harry opened the door slowly, a smile reaching his face as he drank in the office. It was all the same as last time, but it was like a magical museum – everything was interesting. All of the Headmasters from times past waved or said words of welcome, an instrument on Dumbledore's bookshelf whirled and whistled, and Harry's smile morphed into a grin.

"Hello, sir. How are you doing?"

Dumbledore smiled, looking up from the documents on his desk and adjusting the half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose. "I'm doing quite well, Harry, thank you. How was your first day back from break?"

Harry shrugged, taking up a seat opposite the Headmaster. "It was alright. Professor Snape didn't give us a break at all, but I never really expected him to."

Dumbledore stacked his papers with a chuckle. "There's only one speed for Severus. Speaking of Severus, he informed me that you would be spending your winter break with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Did you enjoy yourself?"

' _Careful._ '

"The Malfoys are great," Harry said. "We opened presents on Christmas and everything – oh! And that reminds me…about my father's cloak, sir. Thanks."

Dumbledore waved him off merrily. "It belongs to you. I recall all the times your father slipped away in that cloak…but that's neither here nor there, sadly. You'll have to excuse an old man for reminiscing – your holiday sounds like it was lovely," Dumbledore smiled. "It must have been a tad overwhelming."

Harry nodded. "I – the first gift I can ever remember getting was from them, sir. From the Malfoys. They really have taken me in. I couldn't be more thankful."

Dumbledore's gaze grew solemn. "So I read from the article in the paper today. You…and you must pardon me for even asking, Harry, but you were neither forced nor coerced into giving an interview, were you?"

"No!" Harry protested. "It was my idea, sir. The reporter approached me about it and I thought it would be fun, actually. Besides, sir, I really have no problems with telling the truth about my past. The orphanage was terrible, but I'm not there anymore, am I? I'm here. At Hogwarts. It's all brilliant, actually."

Dumbledore smiled faintly, but there was a strain on his features. He looked at Harry gently from below his thick, silver eyebrows. "I am relieved to hear that. It is a responsibility of mine to look after the welfare of all of my students. That is the only reason I ask such things; you can forgive me for such intrusions, I hope?"

Harry shrugged dismissively. "It's fine."

Professor Dumbledore nodded graciously. "But all the same, you need to express caution in dealing with individuals such as reporters. Should you ever require assistance, however, all you need to do is ask."

"Thanks."

"Excellent! Now, I do believe we have some lessons to attend to. I presume you have your own material that you would like instruction in?"

Harry nodded eagerly, procuring a strip or rumpled parchment from the innards of his robes. "Of course, sir. The one thing that really interests me right now is Animation and how that's used in terms of defense. From what I've read, it's a form of Transfiguration, sir, but wouldn't it fall more under the classification of Charmwork? Oh, and I know basic Conjuring is not taught until after our O.W.L.s, but – "

"Enough!" Dumbledore chuckled, holding up a hand. "I was under the impression that you desired to working on controlling and enhancing your wandless magic?"

Harry blinked. "Sure. That too."

Dumbledore stood fluidly, moving towards the bookcase behind him. "Wonderful. This is actually a topic that requires delving into the theoretics of magic. Wandless magic is actually very similar to nonverbal spellcasting."

Dumbledore placed a book in front of Harry, smiling benignly at his look of stupor.

"Wait – how are the two similar?" Harry prodded. "They both kind of cheat the system, I guess –"

"Exactly. The standard form of spellcasting is to combine words and wand movements to express intention. Wandless takes the wand away just as nonverbal removes speech from the equation. By doing so, an even greater emphasis is placed on the intentions of the caster. Some witches and wizards experience difficulty in using their intent to mold the formation of their magic. There are very few of us that are more "powerful," although the capacity for magic differs from wizard to wizard. For those people, it is a challenge to cast with imperfections in their form. That, naturally, is not the case for you."

Harry smirked and ducked his head.

"It is something I train all of my professors to look for," Dumbledore continued. "Difficulty in transferring understanding to practiced magic is manageable, but it requires intensive training. There are many students that face these challenges and it generally can be related to those whose magic takes longer to make itself known. As children, our minds are very malleable; if magic comes quickly and becomes identifiable to the mind, it is easier to practice."

Dumbledore looked at Harry through his spectacles. "I am assuming that was not the case with you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I've been using my magic since I was four."

Silver eyebrows rose. "Consciously?"

Harry grinned, but did not say a word. He simply held up four fingers.

Professor Dumbledore clasped his hands together and steepled his index fingers just below his crooked nose. "I've done research into childhood magical growth, Harry, and I do not believe I've ever heard of a witch or wizard using magic consciously at such a young age."

 _'Of course not,'_ Harry snickered internally. _'You've never seen anything like me, have you?'_

_'My, my, what a big head you have.'_

_'You heard him.'_

_'I would destroy you in a duel, Harry, as you must know._ '

 _'You have sixty years on me,_ ' Harry scoffed. _'Give me some time_.'

 _'One day, we'll duel properly. I hope you will present me with a challenge._ '

"That's pretty wicked," Harry replied innocently.

"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled. "But of course, you were asking about Animation – it falls under both Charmwork and Transfiguration, which is why it is so difficult to learn. I must admit a certain fondness for the subject. However, we'll get to that, eventually."

Dumbledore pried open the book before him, humming merrily for a moment before finding his desired page. "There is one thing I'd like for you to read about in your spare time. Take a look."

Harry reached out and spun the tome around, looking to the paragraph that Professor Dumbledore was pointing at.

The writing in the book was awfully tiny, Harry first noticed. The stained parchment made some words harder to read than others, but he could make out one word in bold: Occlumency.

 _'No,_ ' Voldemort growled. _'I will teach you that before he will._ '

_'What is it?'_

_'A field of mental magic. Something that would be supremely detrimental for him to instruct you in._ '

' _Why_?'

 _'He'd be as good as reading your thoughts, Harry._ '

_'Shit.'_

_'Exactly_.'

"Er – what is it, sir?" Harry asked, hiding is uneasiness.

"Occlumency is a field of magic that will help you with your wandless capabilities," Dumbledore informed him. "It is beneficial for many other reasons, but I'd like you to simple read about it for the time being, alright?"

Harry looked back to the book. He did not like the thought of someone reading his thoughts.

"Sure."

"Excellent!" Professor Dumbledore beamed. "Now let's leave that alone for now and get started, shall we?"

* * *

"So that right there is a 'C chord.'"

"My hand is too small!"

"Course not! Go ahead, strum the thing and see what it sounds like."

Harry's hand was cramping, but he did as he was told. Sure enough, the strings of the guitar vibrated under his fingertips and a pleasant tone met his ears.

"Okay," Harry huffed, shaking his hand out. "That's one. How many other chords are there?"

Cedric laughed, taking the guitar from Harry's lap and striking up a jaunty tune. "There are loads more. It's not that hard, I promise. It just takes practice."

"I don't reckon I'm patient enough for this, Ced," Harry grimaced, ruffling his hair and then examining his fingertips. He could have sworn his fingers were bleeding.

Cedric ignored him and continued strumming the guitar, humming underneath his breath. Harry watched in morbid fascination.

"Your hand shouldn't move that way."

"And yet it does," Cedric grinned.

Harry was silent for a moment, listening to his friend play the guitar.

"Hey Ced?"

"'Sup?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime."


	22. Friday Night Excursions

"I do believe that that is a checkmate."

Harry frowned, looking on at the obsidian-colored knight as it galloped across the playing surface, up to his own marble-white king and chopping the poor thing to bits.

"You're really good at this game, sir."

Dumbledore smiled brightly, removing his glasses from the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair. "Why thank you, Harry. If you'd allow me a moment of modesty, I've had decades of experience. My brother and I played chess against each other all throughout our childhoods. That is neither here nor there, however; what is truly impressive is how much your control on your magic has improved."

"And that is all thanks to you, sir."

' _I'm going to vomit.'_

"Nonsense," Dumbledore waved him off as Harry did his best not to smirk. "You have done well and worked hard. You deserve your results. Animation is very difficult."

It definitely was that, although impossible was probably a better word for it. Animation was an extension, a branch in the tree of what could be classified as Transfiguration. However, instead of physically changing something, the witch or wizard instead gave the object the ability to change itself – to have the aptitude to move on its own, and to nearly think for itself.

Magic guided the object's "thoughts," of course, but that was the challenging part. Transfiguration was simple and straightforward. It was easy. Animation was _hard_. Simple thoughts could be successful in basic Transfiguration. Not so in Animation.

And that is why Dumbledore had challenged Harry to a game of chess…with a Muggle chessboard. No touching of the playing pieces allowed, only magic. If Harry had ever stood a chance of winning, it went out of the window once he was forced to split his concentration. Even worse, Voldemort had refused to help. _'I refuse to participate in any capacity with this man,'_ Voldemort had said spitefully.

Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, trilled softly from his golden pedestal off to the side of the circular room. Professor Dumbledore gazed off to the side and made a startled noise.

"Goodness," He remarked. "Nine o'clock already. How quickly time escapes us all. I do believe that we will have to end our lesson this week, Harry."

Harry sighed but stood readily, glaring slightly his defeated chess pieces before meeting his professor's eyes. "Same time next week, sir?"

Dumbledore tipped his bearded chin with a wink. "Naturally. Go and enjoy your Friday night, Harry; we'll start next week on the fun that can be had with Conjuring."

Harry grinned. "Wicked. Should I read anything about it, or - ?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "If you wish, by all means do so. But gracious, Harry, do you not ever give yourself a rest?"

"Er – Occasionally?"

The Headmaster shook his head in weary amusement. "Very well. Good evening, Harry."

"'Night, sir."

'. _..Ah, but the evening has just begun_.'

' _I'm nocturnal at heart, anyway_ ,' Harry smirked, his attitude morphing as he took care descending the Headmaster's spiral staircase. ' _This should be pretty fun. What's your plan?_ '

' _Fun_?' Voldemort drawled. ' _What kind of Dark Lord would I be, Harry, to advocate fun?_ '

' _An awesome one_.'

'… _Fine. Let's have "fun," then, shall we? Don your cloak._ '

His Invisibility Cloak had been tucked underneath his robes all evening. After all, the two of them had planned this little…excursion for weeks, now. It had taken a little extra research and even more work ironing out the details, but now, in the first week of May, it was time for Harry to live up to his end of their agreement. And if Harry was honest with himself, he was excited at the challenge that obtaining the Philosopher's Stone would provide.

He'd yet to beat Headmaster Dumbledore at anything, after all. This would be as good an opportunity as any.

Harry stopped on the last step, tossed the cloak around him and drew up the hood. The Gargoyle hopped aside as he passed into the empty hallway. The past few months had certainly been less eventful than his first semester at Hogwarts, but there was still a lot going on around him. Voldemort's tip for Draco, for instance, had really helped the boy out. Draco now owned several books for improving his runic vocabulary and his practical work had greatly improved in class. He often challenged Harry for completing the spellwork assigned in classes first. The one time Draco had actually beaten him produced the slimiest, most self-satisfied smirk Harry had ever seen. Harry had simply rolled his eyes in response.

Fred and George Weasley often made sure to spend time with him in the library, as well – though not to study, of course. They never studied. Instead, they cracked jokes, made fun of literally everything and everybody…and it was fun. Harry had never laughed so much.

The other Slytherins, it seemed, had decided to completely ignore that one night in the Dueling Pit. It was never brought up in front of him. Ah, and Flint had finally shut his match like the bitch he was. In the last Quidditch game, Flint quietly contributed and had caused no further disruptions. Slytherin had obliterated Ravenclaw, 290-40. Harry caught the Golden Snitch. Naturally.

As for Harry himself…well, he was now nearly Cedric's height. If that was not evidence of the success of his rituals, he did not know what was.

The lessons with Dumbledore were all fantastic and interesting in the best of ways. The elder wizard seemed to be enjoying the lessons as much as Harry, it seemed. Due to the Headmaster's time being severely valuable, though, the lessons were held only once each week. But that was fine with Harry. They had focused on Professor Dumbledore's expertise, so far: Transfiguration. Harry had immediately swerved towards the combative uses for Transfiguration. Professor Dumbledore dutifully obliged. The brief topic of Occlumency from their first meeting had never again been brought up.

However, not everything was peachy in the lands of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

More homework than ever was being stacked upon the first years and it was taking up more of Harry's free time than he would like. Both Minister Fudge and the reporter Fairview were writing him regularly. Fudge had even pleaded with him to provide a quote in Fairview's latest article in the Daily Prophet. The man was writing an anniversary piece on the previous war about the treatment of the Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban. Harry had provided a quote where he said all the right things – that the Death Eaters were responsible for the last war and deserved what they got. Fairview had received a lot of positive feedback on the piece.

But the truth was that Harry was a bit stressed. The lull in activity did not suit him and many of his everyday tasks were beginning to become tedious and menial. And in those times, he tried to step back and find some seclusion, where he could read and study whatever took his fancy. He would also have truly enlightening conversations with Voldemort in these times. They would talk about magic, morality, and their goals for the future. It scared Harry, slightly, at how much their interests coincided.

Oh, and they talked about their plans to collect the Philosopher's Stone. Tonight was actually the test run.

' _Potter, pick up your feet! The stairs are about to move!_ '

"Fine! Fine! Shit…" Harry mumbled aloud, drawing curious stares from the paintings along the wall. He shuffled his feet up to the top step and leapt a bit as the stairs started to move. "Bloody things."

' _Focus!_ ' Voldemort snarled. ' _If you ruin this opportunity, I will make sure you regret it!_ '

Harry gritted his teeth. ' _You really know how to motivate a bloke, don't you?_ '

' _Production or punishment_ ,' Voldemort retorted. ' _Your choice_.'

Harry dutifully ignored him. Instead, he looked ahead into the corridor – the forbidden third floor corridor.

To him it looked like any other corridor at Hogwarts, if only less lit up. There was a tapestry on the left side and a statue here and there. The prize, however, was the closed door at the end of the hallway.

Harry walked gingerly near the wall, making sure to keep his footsteps quiet. There was no one on the third floor at the moment, it seemed, but that could change quickly. He reached the wooden door after a short time and pressed his hand against the handle.

He grimaced. Locked.

' _What do we do now?_ '

Harry could obviously open the door, but both he and Voldemort had decided against using magic. Magic was was not only traceable, but it was also identifiable. If anyone investigated the area, they could track it back to him.

' _You pick the lock, of course_.'

' _I don't know how to do that!_ ' Harry burst. ' _Can't I just blast the bloody thing to Azkaban and back_?'

' _Not if you wish to remain enrolled at this school. What do you have in your pockets?_ '

Harry frowned, shuffling his hand around awkwardly to find the pockets of his robes underneath the cloak. His hand fumbled before clenching around a rumpled quill.

' _Draw your wand and transfigure the quill into something that will fit the lock_.'

' _What –'_

' _Metal, Potter_.'

' _Right_.'

Harry waved his wand swiftly and the quill morphed into a thin, cylindrical column of metal. He tried to stick the column into the lock helplessly. The head of the pick fit in, but that was as far as it went.

"Christ," Harry muttered. "I don't reckon you know how to pick locks, do you?"

Voldemort snorted. ' _Obviously. You're going to need a wrench, so transfigure something else_.'

' _A wrench? What?_ '

'… _Make another bloody tool, but bend this one_.'

Harry did as he was told, fishing into his pockets for an old scrap of parchment. Moments later, he had two tools resting in the palm of his hand underneath his Invisibility Cloak.

"Take a look around, my sweet. Find those nasty children out of bed. Dumbledore needs this corridor clear."

Harry's head swiveled around with a crack. It was Filch! That bloody squib of a…what did he do, again? Oh, right. Cause trouble for everyone. Damn.

Harry tip-toed quickly to get behind the nearest statue. Filch had brought his blasted cat up here and Harry had heard stories about the cat – it had a ridiculous knack of finding people.

He was going to have to hex the cat before Filch found him. There was no other option.

"What on earth are you doing up here, Mr. Filch?"

Harry's heart fluttered slightly and he exhaled. Snape.

"Snape!" Filch cried from around corner. "I – that is to say, Ms. Norris and I are up here looking for students out after curfew! Professor Dumbledore has declared the third floor –"

"Out of bounds, yes I am aware," Snape drawled, his deep, dry voice echoing off the corridor walls. "Tell me something, Filch; do you have any idea what is located on this floor of the castle?"

"I – "

"It is something that is kept from the general populace for a reason, Filch. It is something only a select few Professors are even aware of. It would be unfortunate if someone like yourself who…lacks the necessary skills to manage such a threat were to find something they were unprepared for, it would not be pretty, I daresay."

"I'm – we're not here to –"

"Let me be plain, Filch," Harry could easily hear the sneer in Snape's voice. "You are not needed on this floor. If you want to feel important, take your beast of a cat and go clean the trophy room. It's filthy. Be sure to use magic - ah, perhaps not."

Soft, deep laughter mixed with indignant cries as the two voices drifted away. Harry sighed inaudibly. Bless Snape.

' _Hurry up. Bend the tip of that first tool and put the wrench in first – bottom of the lock. Then use the other tool to activate the gears of the lock_.'

' _Where did you learn this, anyway?_ ' Harry asked, reaching the door once more. ' _Better yet, when did you learn it?_ '

' _When I was eight years old, Potter_ ,' Voldemort responded. ' _I had better things to do than socialize with the brats in the orphanage. Quickly, now!_ '

Harry shook his head and got to work. The top lever took some bending and tweaking, but after a few minutes, the door opened with a soft click. In truth, Harry had no idea how he got the door to open, but none of that really mattered.

' _Now, stick with the plan we put together,_ ' Voldemort instructed softly. ' _The Cerberus is in this first room. It cannot see you, but it can smell you. That's where we shall decapitate it_.'

' _What about after that?_ '

' _After that, we simply react. We'll get as far as we're able on instinct before calling it a night_.'

It was a practice run. But hey, it could be fun too, right? Harry opened the door ever so slightly and slipped inside.

The room was dark, but windows along the left side of the wall illuminated the silhouette of a hulking figure. Three heads, each at least five times the size of his own, rose into the air and started sniffing around madly. The head in the middle suddenly started to growl.

That was his queue.

" _Orrendas!_ "

Harry watched in interest as the Cerberus reared back sharply, howling thrice in alarm. The spell he had used caused a putrid smell to invade the senses of anyone other than the target - him. The Cerberus, with its heightened sense of smell, did not seem to appreciate his spellwork.

This spell was different than the one outside. There would be no evidence of a spell on himself – he was not planning to stick around, after all.

' _Nicely done. Now drop down the trapdoor_.'

Harry moved forward swiftly, drawing back the hood of his cloak and bending down to pull the ring from the trapdoor. It swung up and open readily, revealing…nothing. It was dark down there – completely dark, as a matter of fact, but there was nothing for it.

He closed his eyes and fell. And landed abruptly with a plop.

He had only fallen a short distance, it seemed; it did not hurt at all. What he was sitting on was lumpy, however – certainly not the norm for Hogwarts flooring. Lumpy…Harry's eyes widened. And moving!

A tendril of something wrapped gently around his arm, tightening as he flinched.

' _Devil's Snare, Potter! Relax!_ '

Harry laid back quickly on instinct. It was the only way he could even feign comfort, anyway. The plant wrapped around him, around his midsection and neck. Around his forehead and legs and arms. He pursed his lips and scrunched his eyes in revulsion for the situation, but he kept his limbs loose and unmoving. In mere moments, the plant was rising above him and he was sinking. The tendrils of the plant loosened and let him go.

And the back of his head hit the uncompromising marble flooring harder than it needed to.

"Ow! Goddammit…"

He rubbed the back of his head viciously, closing his eyes and taking a moment to collect himself. That was not what he had been expecting. He stood quickly and moved aside from the Devil's Snare before it decided to grasp him again and looked ahead to the only direction available – the stone passageway.

Harry walked forward in silence with only the occasional dripping of water to accompany him. The footing was uneven and the passageway sloped deeper into an abyss of uncertainty. Harry would have felt uneasy if he were not confident in his abilities to get back. There was only one way to travel, after all.

A new noise made itself known. It was a rustling sound, a sound of movement. Harry furrowed his brow and suddenly he was inside a brilliantly lit chamber filled with…what were those feathered things?

Harry looked ahead – another door! There were brooms lined up beside the door. Harry's eyes caught a glint of something above him. The…those were keys! There were so many! How was he supposed to find the right key for the door?

' _Try the door first, Potter. Let's start there_.'

Harry approached the door warily. It would not do anything to him without the key, would it? He reached forward and jiggled the handle – nothing.

Harry tried his tools on the lock as well; they could not even penetrate the lock on the door.

' _Bollocks_ ,' Harry muttered. ' _How are we going to get this key? It could be any of them up there! And there are hundreds!_ '

' _You fly_.'

Harry scowled. ' _I know that_.'

' _Do you doubt your skills on a broom? Perhaps Slytherin could use another Seeker_ …'

' _Fuck you_.'

' _Careful, Potter_...'

' _What should I do, then?_ '

Voldemort paused. ' _I've got a spell for you. We do not want to leave a trace on the door or on the key itself. Therefore you will cast this one on your person. The incantation is "_ Quaestium Utile" _. It will point you to the right key._ '

'… _How does that work, exactly_?'

' _Now is not the time for questions_ ,' Voldemort said crossly. ' _Do as I say. You do not need a particular wand movement for this spell – just a flick will do_.'

Moments later, Harry's eyes fixed themselves to a key soaring through the chamber. That was it. That was the one. He could not explain how he knew, but he _knew_.

It was a large, silver key, one Harry almost doubted would fit the lock, but he snatched a brook readily. He shot up into the air with a purpose, darting straight for the key. It took off as well, as if sensing it were now prey.

Harry dipped and weaved, never losing sight of the key throughout the swarm of its winged brethren. The silver shined like a Snitch and Harry finally feinted the key into a corner. It was trapped.

He scooped it gently, in hopes of keeping the key pristine. It struggled mightily, but its wings were pinned inside his palm. He landed quickly and opened the door with a swift twist of the key. He let it go and stepped inside a dark room.

There was no light at all and no sound to comfort him. Suddenly, however, brazen lights blazed forth, illuminating a ridiculously large chess board stocked with even larger chess pieces.

And all the faceless chessmen were watching him.

Spooky.

' _So if all the Professors are helping guard this blasted stone and we've faced a plant and flying keys, whose room do you think this is?_ '

' _An oversized chessboard, Potter – who do you think?_ '

' _McGonagall_.'

' _Hmm_.'

There was one spot open on the board for him – the black king. It made too much sense; he would have to play the game to get through the room.

' _Wait_.'

Harry paused on his walk to the open place on the chessboard. ' _I'm listening_.'

' _Do the pieces interact_?'

' _Only one way to find out_.'

Harry walked up to the white side of the board, the faces following him every step of the way.

"Excuse me, er – king?" Harry began. "Can you answer a question for me?"

The king's head tilted to the side, its crown sliding atop its head ever so slightly. Harry took that as a yes.

' _Ask if you could trade places_.'

' _Trade places?_ '

' _The door is right behind him, you dolt_.'

Oh. Sure enough, another door was feet from the white king. Harry huffed.

' _Sorry if a giant damn chessboard caught my attention_.'

' _My attention is focused solely upon obtaining myself a body, Potter_.'

"Can we switch places please? I always like to play as white if I can," Harry smiled innocently. The king looked on in silence before a black king stepped onto the playing field. The white king stepped back and Harry grinned…until the king took place in front of the door.

Dammit.

' _We don't have time for this,_ ' Voldemort growled angrily. ' _Blast that thing to pieces_.'

' _What happened to stealth and not using magic?_ ' Harry asked. ' _Do you really want to blow it all at this point?_ '

' _I've been nothing but a spirit for a decade! With this stone, I am reborn! I begin anew! I will not apologize for impatience, Potter!_ '

' _You never apologize at all, let's not act like you do_ ,' Harry scoffed. ' _So I'm going to ignore your last suggestion. Do we play?_ '

'… _No_ ,' Voldemort responded at last. ' _These chessmen are animated. You need to take over the white king. You need to overpower McGonagall's magic_.'

' _I-I've never done that before_.'

' _It's all will, Harry_ ,' Voldemort instructed. ' _It's all force. If your force is greater than hers, you will succeed_.'

Harry nodded grimly, stepping onto the white king's vacant spot on the chessboard. He raised his wand, remembering all his instruction. He needed to take over, to direct the king's movements for only a moment…to move aside.

Moving only took a small thought. Pick up a leg, push off the other. Step, shuffle…Harry's arm shook.

The king stepped aside, and Harry beamed.

' _Quickly!_ '

Harry leapt forward and heard noise behind him. The chess pieces were moving! Swords and stone crackled and crashed, but Harry was too swift. He opened the latch of the door and dashed inside.

Another dark room. Brilliant.

' _What do you think this is?_ ' Harry asked.

'… _This was Quirrell's room_ ,' Voldemort revealed. ' _It used to be an ogre – completely suitable for that wretch of a man – but now, I am not sure_.'

"I have company, it seems."

Harry jumped suddenly and fire rose up around the room. He was standing on a set of stairs that rose up steadily to a throne.

A man sat there, but he was not a man. He was similar to the stony chess pieces in the last room, but in so much more detail.

Cropped red hair sat atop his head, windswept to one side with a burly beard falling to his breast. Harry gazed up into curious green eyes matching his own.

"A student," The man remarked lightly. "Not whom I expected to see. But how are you, lad? More importantly, why are you here? What good do you seek?"

"Erm….hi?" Harry started bleakly, stepping up to the top step. The man had arms bulging with power. A sword rested in one hand and a wand in the other. It was slightly intimidating. "My name's Harry, sir. I'm here…to test myself, really."

"A test?" A smile tugged at the man's lips. "You have passed, I hope?"

"That…remains to be seen," Harry muttered. "I apologize if this is rude, sir, but how would I be able to advance beyond you, sir?"

"Only those in the pursuit of good shall pass beyond me," The man stated with a chortle. "No one else stands a chance."

So the man was…what? A guard? A judge of character? How was he to prove or fake such a character?

' _We need to think on this_.'

Harry agreed readily.

"So what is the pursuit of good, in your opinion?" Harry found himself asking.

The figure leaned forward, a solemn expression taking over his face.

"The pursuit of good is many things," He said. "It is love, it is potential, it is protection, and bravery, and chivalry. It is simply doing what is right."

"Hmm…well, it was nice to meet you, sir," Harry trailed off. "What is your name, if I may ask?"

"Leaving so soon?" The man guffawed. "You will not learn my name until you gain my blessing, Harry. Have a nice night, will you?"

"Uh…sure."

"Harry! Where have you been?"

Harry entered his dorm and all eyes found him.

"Hey Draco," He sighed wearily. "I was…out."

"Obviously," Draco sniffed, standing up from his bed. "Why didn't you take me? Oh! This came for you – I promise I didn't read it."

He was lying. Harry narrowed his eyes, taking the scrap of paper from the boy. Whatever.

_Read the Daily Prophet in the morning. You are not going to want to miss it. I guarantee it._

Harry furrowed his brows. It was Fairview's writing. Naturally, the man wrote something…but what?

It could wait. He was tired. He changed quickly and crawled into bed. Voldemort had been brooding ever since that last room, but Harry thought they had made good progress. There was still time, after all.

Nothing was waiting around the corner, after all.

How wrong he was.

The next morning started like any Saturday would. Harry slept in a bit longer than was normal for him, took a shower, and went to breakfast with his friends. The morning, however, flipped on a Silver Sickle upon reaching the Great Hall. Wandering eyes found him from every table and the noisy chatter of the students was much louder than on a normal weekend. Harry steered himself to the Slytherin table where a Prophet was shoved under his nose. He glanced up at the Head Table briefly. Professor Snape sat tightlipped with his eyes narrowed, looking down the table ever so slightly. That led Harry's gaze to Professor McGonagall, whose pointed hat was tipped low as she bent over in her seat.

Blue eyes found him. Pained, remorseful, piercing blue eyes. The eyes of Professor Dumbledore.

Harry looked down and read:

_Boy-Who-Lived Wronged – Dumbledore Responsible_

_By: Patrick Fairview_

_No files were submitted with the Department for the Protection of Wizarding Youth ten years ago. No names were written down, and as a result, Harry Potter's upbringing was delegated to a Muggle orphanage._

The Daily Prophet _has found that this error in the guardianship of Harry Potter was the result of magical interference. According to sources, the perpetrator of this offense was none other than the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore._

_According to a source, Dumbledore, 109, retrieved the infant Potter before the Department for the Protection of Wizarding Youth arrived on the scene ten years ago._

" _I thought that all was taken care of," Senior Department Head Vince Harris said. "Potter's case was all over our heads, you know? We had received hundreds of requests to adopt the kid within a week of You-Know-Who's defeat. We just figured that someone higher up in the Ministry was working on the case. We had no idea something was wrong."_

_In what appears to be a large gap in communication, former Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold explains his own position._

" _Of course I had nothing to do with [Potter's upbringing,] why would I?" Minister Bagnold said. "I was leading the fight against the most powerful Dark Wizard Britain's ever seen, sorry. I feel for the kid, I really do. Not only was childcare not my responsibility as Minister, but also there were more important things going on."_

_While Potter's placement in a Muggle orphanage is still a mystery, it appears that Dumbledore was solely responsible for removing Potter from the standard actions taken for an orphaned witch or wizard. Neither Dumbledore nor Potter have been reached for comment as of the publication of this news._

There was a tick in Harry's jawline that he suddenly became conscious of. It was funny – he had never noticed a tick there before. His hands shook and his upper lip quivered ever so slightly.

He looked up. Dumbledore's silvery head was tipped downward, leaning on his conjoined hands.

Harry gazed back to the paper once more. His eyes were glazed and out of focus as _The Daily Prophet_ burned to cindered beneath his fingertips.


	23. The One with the Arguments

"Mr. Potter! Slow down!"

Harry did not. His emotions had been on the fringe all morning since leaving the Great Hall. He had left abruptly, as soon as the last cinders that once made up The Daily Prophet had hit the table. Several letters had found him. One was from Minister Fudge, expressing his own outrage and offering help. Another was from Lucius Malfoy, expressing condolences and support in a much more genuine sense.

Voldemort was in his ear the entire time, and Harry realized something quite suddenly. He was not the type to mull things over unnecessarily. He was the type to confront. Now was the time to confront.

Because make no mistake; Harry was _livid_.

How…where did his emotions even begin? How could one man decide his childhood? How did it even happen? Dumbledore must have retrieved him before whatever Ministry department could. The article had said that documents had been altered, after all. Ultimately, Dumbledore was responsible for it all. He was responsible for breaking laws. For all intents and purposes, he was responsible for kidnapping an infant. Dumbledore was responsible for placing him in that blasted orphanage. Dumbledore was responsible for all of the bullying. Dumbledore was responsible for the poor food, the ragged clothing, the emotional abuse. Dumbledore was responsible for his pathetic upbringing.

The article had gotten it right. Professor Dumbledore had betrayed him.

He needed answers. And he would get them in whatever manner was required of him. If he had to throw things, if he had to scream and shout and curse and rant, he would. If he had to hurt someone, he would. He'd make his actions against Mike seem like child's play. Perhaps Professor McGonagall noticed this – she had been following him for two corridors now.

"Mr. Potter! If you would stop for a moment – "

Harry whirled around on the spot. "What?"

"Manners, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall's lip curled.

"Not in the mood for that rubbish," Harry muttered shortly. "What do you want?"

The expression on McGonagall's face would make any student cower, but not Harry. Not today. "You read the article, I presume?"

"No!" Harry clutched at his chest with a sarcastic gasp. "Whatever would have given you that idea?"

"Potter, I am this close to…" She stopped herself, standing rigidly. "Mr. Potter, before you speak with Headmaster Dumbledore, there is something you need to be aware of."

Harry said nothing. He simply crossed his arms and tilted his head.

"Ten years ago," She began. "The Wizarding World was in chaos. You-Know-Who was running rampant upon the population and the only true resistance to him was headed by Professor Dumbledore. He was a militaristic leader during that time and when You-Know-Who was vanquished so suddenly, no one reacted well. It was as if every witch and wizard in Britain had lost their sense of responsibility. There were impromptu parties and multiple violations of the Statute of Secrecy. When you vanquished You-Know-Who…I'm sorry to say, but no one was focusing on _you_. They all praised your name and toasted to you, surely, but no one was looking after your welfare.

"That is where Professor Dumbledore stepped in. He assigned me the task of – "

Professor McGonagall blinked and cleared her throat. Harry was not impressed.

"Assigned you the task of what?" He demanded.

The Professor's eyes looked over the top of his head. "I was asked to evaluate your aunt and uncle and to see if they would be fit guardians."

"Ah," Harry fumed. "And you'll have to forgive me, Professor McGonagall. But was anyone ever planning on telling me I had some damn relatives? Did you or Dumbledore or anyone else ever consider that?"

"Professor, Potter -"

"I'm not a Professor, ma'am."

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall barked. "I understand your anger, but I will not stand for your blatant disrespect! The immaturity that you are displaying – "

"Immaturity?" Harry asked, outraged. "What do you know of my anger? I'm not acting immature at all, thank you! There was no time to be immature being raised in a bloody _orphanage_ – "

"You will let me finish, Mr. Potter!"

"Oh, by all means!" He threw his hands out in a sarcastic gesture. "Finish! Please!"

If McGonagall's expression were any sign, Harry was moments from being assigned enough detentions to set a record. "Your aunt and uncle – most unfortunately – were not suited to become your guardians. I made this decision after a thorough examination. I made my case to Professor Dumbledore, and he agreed. That left him with a heavy decision to make. If your only relatives could not raise you, who would?"

"So…you're saying that you are responsible as well?" Harry echoed. "You're saying that it is your fault that I ended up in an orphanage?"

"Not at all. I'm simply explaining why the decision was made –"

"I can tell you where I should have gone," Harry laughed deliriously. "Did my family have any friends, perhaps? If not them, how about a wizarding family, hmm? Do you have any idea how many families reached out to me to see if I wanted a family after that first article came out? Dozens! If I'm as famous as you all say I am, I'm sure anyone would have been happy to take me!"

"There are many factors that you are not considering – "

"Don't care," Harry scoffed. "I'm done talking to you. I'm going to go get answers from Dumbledore, now. If you want to be there, by all means, follow me."

His anger, if anything, was building. She had the gall to defend their actions? Who in their right mind could justify putting a child in an orphanage instead of with a family? And that was not even taking into account that he was a wizard! No magical children should grow up ignorant of their abilities, of their world! It was indefensible!

But they were trying to defend it. Harry would rip the rug out from under their feet and burn it all.

"Gargoyle, get out of my way or I'll blast you to bits," Harry muttered violently, retrieving his wand from his robes.

"Bertie Bott's Blissful Brownies."

Professor McGonagall saved the poor gargoyle from an unfortunate fate. Harry threw a nasty look over his shoulder as the gargoyle hopped aside, but he climbed the stairs with a purpose.

"Come in -"

He bashed the door open with his forearm.

"Ah…"

Professor Dumbledore had a quill in hand, held just over the parchment spread upon his desk. Whatever it was, it was not as important as what Harry had to say.

"Good afternoon, Harry – "

"Is it?" Harry echoed hollowly. "I guess I'll be the judge of that, right? It'll depend on what kind of answers you have for me."

Professor Dumbledore blinked before setting his quill down with a sigh. It seemed the old wizard had not expected Harry's bluntness.

"Harry, the answers you ask for require a large amount of reflection. They also require a perspective that I am afraid you have not the experience for. If – "

"So what, are you saying I'm too young?" Harry replied hotly. "Are you saying I cannot understand you? Do you think you're that far above me, Dumbledore?"

"Goodness, no!" Professor Dumbledore cried, holding a hand up. "Harry, after the past few months, I could never underestimate you. What I am attempting to state is that you were not in a position to experience the first war with Voldemort. If you had been privy to those memories – and I cannot express how relieved I am that neither you nor your fellow classmates were forced to experience his terror – "

Voldemort scoffed mightily. Harry had almost forgotten that he was there.

"But those experiences provide a wisdom that you do not have."

"You broke laws," Harry retorted. "You took the law into your own hand and delivered me to a bloody Muggle orphanage. I don't know what you're trying to persuade me on, but there are some things that you cannot defend. You ignored the fact that I had relatives and the fact that nearly any wizarding family in Britain would have taken me in!"

"That is exactly my point, Harry," Dumbledore argued quietly. "Anyone would have taken you in. Anyone, including Death Eaters. Voldemort's men were always a mystery during that time, Harry, it is important that you understand this. Anyone could have been an enemy. Anyone could have wished you harm. The Ministry, unfortunately, was not exactly the most organized or sturdy defense during the war. It was corrupt as well. Am I wrong for attempting to assure your safety when I was not sure whom I could trust?

"Your relatives, Vernon and Petunia, regrettably were deemed unfit to raise you," Dumbledore continued at a steady pace. "Petunia was your mother's sister and sadly, she did not appreciate your mother's abilities. Placing you there with them would have been the simple solution, Harry, but both Minerva behind you and I saw the issues that would arise on Privet Drive. Would Petunia and Vernon overlook your heritage in favor of raising you correctly? We did not think so.

"And let me say this as well: with your family, I could have ensured that Voldemort could not touch you. Blood magic, while considered Dark in almost any capacity, is extremely potent. But I decided against the easy route, instead looking for a place in which you would be happier."

"And you picked an orphanage?!" Harry raved. He had taken a seat whilst Dumbledore spoke, but now he was back on his feet. "There were no other options but an orphanage? I had no one there, Dumbledore! They hated me and I hated them! All of them! The only time anyone ever tried to adopt me, they turned their back on me! I tried so hard to be good for them, but at the first sign of magic, they dropped me like I was nothing!"

Professor McGonagall gasped behind him and Dumbledore frowned behind his silver beard. "Hate is a very strong word, Harry. It is something many say without truly understanding its meaning. I can understand your discontent, but surely a childhood amongst your peers was a better childhood than with a family who would not love you?"

"They were not my peers!" Harry roared. "They were never my peers! They were bullies! And you gave them that opportunity! It was your fault!"

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall cried. "You are acting childish – "

"CHILDISH?!" He screamed. "CAN A CHILD DO THIS?"

He whipped out his arm, snapping it like a whip and all the little gizmos on Dumbledore's shelf went soaring, smashing into the wall near the Headmaster's vacant phoenix stand. The former Headmasters and Headmistresses all cried out in outrage and Professor McGonagall let out a curse. Harry did not hear it, however. He did not even care. He just stared at the Headmaster.

"DO YOU THINK I GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ANY OF THEM? THEY CAN ALL ROT IN HELL, YOU HEAR ME?"

Professor Dumbledore's eyes widened and he leaned back as the cries coming from above finally fell silent.

' _Be careful, Potter_.'

' _What for?_ ' He replied spitefully.

' _Because you still have six years to spend at this school,' Voldemort informed him. 'Do not say too much. They will never understand you, Harry. They will never understand you the way that I do. So let it go. Let the anger go for now. It will drive you. Only let the hatred remain. Anger is not productive – hatred is_.'

Harry seethed, but remained silent. His heart was hammering and his chest heaved. Voldemort was right. He nearly always was, actually. He would say things that he did not mean to say when he was angry. But once Voldemort said it, he realized it was true. He hated Dumbledore. He hated the fact that he was responsible for his upbringing. He hated how the Headmaster had lied to him. He hated how the man did things out of arrogance.

And he would pay for betraying him. Eventually.

A piercing cry shook the circular office and a scrap of parchment appeared in fire. Dumbledore snatched it deftly and peered down at it through the spectacles perched on his nose.

"Wonderful," He muttered to himself. "Fawkes, would you be so kind as to send him in? The fire is open to him."

Another call echoed out in acknowledgement and all of the instruments that Harry had just damaged flew back onto their shelves, seemingly unharmed. Both this and the phoenix's chirp seemed to calm the Professors, but Harry was not affected in the slightest.

The fire blazed with a green hue and a thin man stepped out of the hearth.

He was young, Harry noticed first. The man had light brown hair that was peppered with just a bit of grey near his temples. The one thing that really struck Harry, however, was how tired the man seemed. There was a scar here and there that he noticed, but none were particularly…grotesque. Just there. Shabby, thin robes covered the man and despite all of that, the man's greenish-brown eyes were pleasant, if a bit sad.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore coughed, standing to meet the stranger. "This is Remus Lupin."

The way Dumbledore said it, that name was supposed to mean something to him. It did not. He cocked his head and simply looked up at the man. Lupin shook Dumbledore's hand. McGonagall bustled over to give the man a hug, startling Harry.

"Hello Albus, Minerva," Lupin said, until his eyes met Harry's and crinkled is smile morphed into more of a grimace. "You, er - you may call me Remus, if you wish."

"Remus is an old friend of mine," Dumbledore said jovially, as if their argument earlier had never happened. "But I wanted to introduce him to you, Harry. He's come a long way to be here – "

Harry snorted. Yeah, by Floo Powder.

"And he actually factors in to our…discussion, earlier. You see, Harry, the only other realistic option we had for your guardianship."

"What?" Harry asked, his eyes snapping back to the stranger. Lupin's eye twitched but he seemed fairly composed.

"I'll take it from there, I think," Lupin said softly. He sighed softly. "Harry, I was a friend of your parents. They were…marvelous people, I assure you. Parents you can truly be proud of. But when they…passed away…I was – there was a lot more to it than that. There was a tragedy that involved two of my other friends and they are both gone, now. Add that to the tragedy that befell Lily and James, I…I was in no position, after that, to attempt to raise an infant."

He shook his head ruefully and smiled a grim smile. "I was also in my early twenties at the time, if that's a defense."

"Poor Peter," Professor McGonagall clutched at her chest. "I cannot even imagine how difficult that must have been for you, Remus."

He chuckled dryly. "I got through it all, eventually."

"So…not to take anything away from you or anything," Harry muttered lowly. "But how does that justify putting an infant in an orphanage? If you were as good of friends with my parents as you say you were, wouldn't you do what you could for me?"

Lupin flinched. Violently. A grin graced his face and he closed his eyes, ruffling his hair with his hand. "There's something else to it, Harry. Something that really…"

"Perhaps you would like me to – "

"No, Albus, no thank you," Lupin said forcefully. "He's right. Harry is Lily and James' kid, Albus. He deserves to know this."

Green eyes met his own. "My childhood was a lonely one, Harry. Your father and another boy named Sirius Black were my first friends. And though I had a…condition, they stuck by me through thick and thin. They didn't _care_. And this condition could have kept me out of Hogwarts entirely, but Albus was very accommodating and it was a miracle, really. If I had never gone to Hogwarts…if I had never learned magic…I would have never met my friends. And I miss them. All of them. Even Sirius. They looked past my condition, but it's a condition that makes being a guardian of a child impossible."

The man looked torn, but determined. Lupin's hands were clasped in his lap and he was leaning forward, looking at the ground. His gaze finally lifted, holding a strength that Harry could not help admiring.

"I am a werewolf," Lupin said simply.

The room was silent and everyone was watching him. It puzzled Harry, and he shrugged in response. "Okay. So?"

"So?" Lupin echoed. He seemed just as confused as Harry was. "You know what that means, right? I am unfit to be anyone's guardian, Harry. Very few jobs are available to me. The Ministry, justifiably, does not provide much lenience to werewolves. Most of my kind lives on the fringe of wizarding society, away from prosecution. To be your guardian, I would have needed a steady income," He shook his ratty robes, "Which I do not have. I do not have a home, either, only an apartment. And most importantly, my condition would prevent any stability. I could not have given you anything near what you deserve, Harry."

Harry had a response for that. He truly did…until Voldemort ruined it.

' _You know, he's been victimized just as much as you, Harry._ '

' _What? No he hasn't_.'

' _Of course he has_ ,' Voldemort argued. ' _He is understating his status as a werewolf. They quite literally have no place in modern wizarding society. For that very reason, I attempted to reach out to him during my first reign, but to no avail. Most werewolves sided with me. Their condition is a simple one. It's one night a month, twelve nights in a year. Even more so, they are interesting. They are all victims_.'

' _But that's my point – being a werewolf is nothing. It shouldn't be a problem –_ '

' _And yet it is. Look at him! And he clings to Dumbledore because the man is the only person to provide him any kindness. His friends – your parents – they were his life when he should have so much more. I know Remus Lupin, Harry. He fought against me, but I felt no hatred for the man. Another victim, another casualty of how pathetic our current system is. He is held down by the same system that was not able to properly look after your own upbringing._ '

Harry ducked his head. Was all of that true? Lupin certainly seemed to have had a difficult life. And oddly enough, Harry could appreciate that. He could understand that.

He would not put any of the fault on Lupin's shoulders. There was still a question nagging at him, though.

"You mentioned your other friends…what happened to them?"

"Ah, that's another question for another day, I believe," Professor Dumbledore said…until Lupin interrupted him.

"Sirius Black was both my and your father's best friend," He said heavily. "And Sirius betrayed James to Voldemort. He is now in Azkaban, serving a life sentence. My other friend, Peter, attempted to confront Sirius, and – "He coughed slightly. "It did not work out well."

' _Is that true?_ '

' _Is it true that Sirius Black betrayed your parents' location to me? Not at all. It was actually Peter Pettigrew_.'

' _WHAT?_ '

' _Pettigrew was the rat_ ,' Voldemort laughed harshly. ' _And what a coward Pettigrew was – faking his own death to avoid punishment. He framed Black. And make no mistake; I will reward my followers in Azkaban beyond anything they could ever believe. Pettigrew? Not so much_.'

' _You know I have not forgiven you for that, right?'_ Harry asked. ' _For my parents. I don't think I will ever forgive you for that_.'

' _I am aware. I have said all that I would like to say on the subject_.'

"That's…terrible," Harry finally got out. "I don't really know what to say."

Lupin smiled. "There isn't much to say, really. It's in the past. Now that I've gotten the chance to meet you, Harry…do you think we could catch up? It is a Saturday, after all…"

The man asked the question timidly, but Harry saw no reason to be timid at all. Voldemort was right. Lupin was just as much a victim as he, and the man did not even know it. One of the man's friends had been framed for a crime he did not commit. Toss that on top of losing damn near all of his friends in the war and also being a werewolf and Harry could empathize. Hell, Lupin might have even had it worse.

"Sure," Harry nodded. Lupin beamed.

"Excellent!" He stood. "Albus, shall I meet you in a couple of hours? And Mrs. Minnie – "

"How many times have I told you lot not to call me that?" She huffed. Harry saw the mischievous look in Lupin's eyes.

"Not enough, apparently," He smiled. "But I'll make sure to stop by before I leave."

"Please do," She said. "It has been so long, after all."

Lupin patted her on the shoulder. "Of course. Harry? Shall we?"

Harry left without another word to the two Professors, walking until he was side-by-side with Lupin as they descended the spiral staircase."

"So, Harry…" Lupin started. "You really don't mind me being a – "

"A werewolf?" Harry shook his head. "It's less than one day every month. It's something you can't control. Why should it matter at all?"

A smirk tugged at the man's lip. "Your father would have said something similar. He liked to call it my furry little problem. People often asked me if I had a misbehaved rabbit or something...

"Thank you," He said finally. "I cannot express how relieved I am to hear you say that."

Harry tipped his chin, stepping out from behind the gargoyle, giving it a kick for good measure. "No problem. I just wish things were different."

Lupin sighed. "So do I, Harry. I wish I could have raised you. When I saw the _Daily Prophet_ this morning…I was devastated, honestly. But enough of this morbid stuff! Why don't you show me around the school that I used to attend? That should be enlightening."

* * *

The two of them talked for the rest of the afternoon, trading stories. Harry told Remus (and yes, it was Remus now) about his Sorting and a bit about his childhood. Remus revealed how he was bitten. His Lycanthropy had created a childhood very similar to Harry's own. A lonely one. And Harry understood him.

Remus was very funny, as Harry learned. He had a dry, sharp humor that always produced from him a snort or chuckle. Remus had been shocked to hear of his Quidditch prowess at first, but eventually shook his head in bemusement. James would have been proud, he had said.

And it was the first he had ever heard of his parents in any genuine sense. Eventually, they said their goodbyes and produced promises to write. Harry was glad to have met him.

But was his anger at Dumbledore quelled in any way? Not in the slightest. Dumbledore would pay, eventually. He had no right to take him and place him in a Muggle orphanage. Harry would stand by that.

He ate dinner in the Great Hall, ignoring the stares and talking only with his friends. Draco was sneering at Dumbledore the entire meal, which amused Harry a bit. Cedric had informed Harry that he would be contacting his parents to see if they could get him out of his orphanage. Harry appreciated that as well, but it probably would be unnecessary.

Before calling it a night, however, Harry received another letter from Minister Fudge. Fudge recanted his earlier sentiments, but there was a portion of the letter that caught his attention. Fudge was asking for help:

_Now, Harry, the Ministry is looking into evaluating all of Azkaban's current residents and revisiting their cases. Many of the long-term…shall we say residents?...are still in Azkaban on account of Death Eater activity. Harry, you are a hero to the Wizarding World of Britain. Your defeat of You-Know-Who brought all of the Death Eaters to their knees. Would you be willing to speak on their captivity with Fairview for me? It would be a massive help to your Ministry, I assure you. I will find a way to reward your help as well. Perhaps lessons with a Department Head this summer? I still owe you a tour of our main campus, you know!_

_Anyway, if you'd be so kind as to talk about the Death Eaters on the list that I've provided, that would be marvelous. I know you never knew them well, but just read up on their crimes and remember that we are not even privy to all they did. The Death Eaters tortured and killed innocent civilians, Harry!_

_Fairview will be in touch. When is your next Quidditch game? I'd love to watch you raise that Quidditch Trophy!_

_Warm regards! Your friend,_

_Cornelius Oswald Fudge_

_Minister of Magic_

Harry had read the letter and tossed it aside with a sigh. Sure, he'd help the Minister out. Voldemort certainly did not like the idea, but Harry could use all the help he could get. The list Fudge had provided listed many of the Death Eaters' biggest names: Sirius Black (who Harry now knew was innocent, despite the staggering list of crimes), all three Lestranges – Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan – Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, and the list went on. All convicted murderers, all guilty of horrible crimes.

But none of it mattered. He would respond to Fairview in time. In the present, he would close his bed's curtains and plot. He would plot against Dumbledore and he would plot against that man who was defending the Philosopher's Stone with Voldemort.

After all, there were only a few weeks left of school.

He had a stone to steal.


	24. Feed the Dementors

"Do you know what being a Slytherin means? Sometimes, it feels like the witches and wizards in our house forget; they get caught up in homework and gossip and trying to find someone to fuck. None of that is what Slytherin is about, folks. Slytherin isn't just a house, it isn't just a word. Slytherin is a creed. It's a promise to each other, to protect each other and to fight for each other. It binds us all, and glory for one of us is shared by all of us.

"You have one last shot this year, team. All of you. This is your last opportunity until final exams to shine and bring glory to our house. This is the one opportunity that you all will have this year to win the Quidditch Cup. Hufflepuff stands before you. They're the only ones who can stop you. Do not let that happen!"

Felix Sykes paced. The team sat on the benches in front of their lockers. Harry was leaning back into his.

"This is it," Sykes summed up. "One shot. If that does not fire you up, I cannot do anything for you. Slytherin is watching. Make us all proud."

One shot. Harry smirked a bit and cracked his neck. His skin tingled with suppressed energy. The year had flown by and it all came down to this one last chance, according to Sykes.

What a year it was.

Not even a year ago, magic was a foreign concept to him. Harry lived in an orphanage, in a constant state of cynicism. Nothing was…good, there. There was no source of hope. At the orphanage, instead of a light at the end of the tunnel, there was just a bleak, cloudy sky. What was he supposed to do after leaving the orphanage? Was he supposed to find a way to save himself?

But magic had saved him. Magic delivered him from his miserable existence.

And then Cedric had come along. And Draco. Then Theo and Blaise, Fred and George. They all provided him hope. They gave him a reason to care – a reason to _live_. Harry had friends for the first time. They had all gotten him Christmas presents, for Christ's sake! The boots from Draco were tucked away safely inside his locker at the very moment.

They all cared about him – it was something that the orphanage had never offered him. And it was magic that had made all of it possible. Harry knew this, now.

And so Harry had finally come around, upon Lucius' insistence, to view all magic with an open mind and a lack of judgment – no singular piece of magic had been the one to save him, after all – and that had made all the difference. The spells. The training.

The rituals.

He now could see without his old, ratty glasses. He could see with sharper vision than ever. His body had changed as well. Dramatically. Coming from the orphanage, he was a bit on the scrawny side. A bit short. Now…he was strong. Or at least, he was well on his way to getting there.

And then there was Voldemort. How coincidental was their meeting? Pure luck, the epitome of fate…whichever. Magic, again, was probably the best answer. Their odds of their confrontation in Gringotts were astronomical! They were a matter of time and space – and yet, the two of them crossed paths once more. They crossed paths for the first time since the thirty-first of October, ten years ago.

He had blamed the man, the spirit…whatever Voldemort was, once upon a time. He had blamed him for everything. Voldemort had killed his parents. If not for him, he would never have suffered in Ripley's orphanage for a decade. He would have grown up like a normal child with a loving family.

But of course, Harry's perspective had changed. It is amazing, really, what can happen in a year.

Voldemort…Harry understood him, at least to a certain extent. The man wanted to make changes for that would benefit the magical population. Did that make him evil? Harry wanted to do the same, and if some Muggles got hurt along the way…who cared? Really, what did it matter? Harry's parents had opposed Voldemort, and Harry could respect their choice. More than anything, he respected his own parents' convictions, one way or the other. But he disagreed.

And because of that, he was willing to let go. He was certain that his parents, despite their opposing views, would support his desire to change things for the better. And then, Dumbledore had betrayed him.

Oh, he was still angry about that whole ordeal. He was apoplectic, in fact. However, it simmered below the surface. Voldemort had been right; that type of rage was counterproductive. It clouded his judgment. The fact of the matter was that Dumbledore would get his comeuppance sometime in the future. McGonagall, too. For now…he would put on a fake smile and steal as much knowledge from the man as possible.

Their lessons had continued and Dumbledore had seemed relieved when Harry's anger had abated. They moved from Conjuring to Transfiguration and they even delved into Alchemy, which was humorously ironic to Harry.

And yet, looking back, Voldemort had taught him so much more. Voldemort touched on everything. Simple spells, Dark spells, convenient spells, blood magic, ritualism…everything. Harry was still training his…chakras…and Voldemort promised to show him some cool things that could be done with that once the man regained his body. And that would be soon, after all.

They had a plan. They had finally worked out a plan to steal the stone. They knew how to use it, as well. That bloody, transfigured figure in that last room did not stand a chance.

"Potter! The match isn't going to wait for you, you know!"

Harry cocked an eyebrow and smirked at Sykes. It seemed his introspection would have to wait.

"Don't rush me, Sykes," Harry teased. "You wouldn't like what would happen if you did."

Sykes laughed in return. "I know it now, you fucking super wizard. You scared the shit out of the upper years in that duel you had."

"They never said anything," Harry chuckled darkly. "I'm a gentle soul deep down…I promise."

"Yeah, well, don't be today, alright?"

"Sure," Harry grinned. He snatched his broom up from his right, bouncing on the balls of his feet; it was time to have some fun.

* * *

"Another goal for Hufflepuff! They were off to a slow start, but those Badgers are giving the Slytherins everything they can handle, now! The score is now 90-80, Slytherin!"

Damn all of it to hell. The game had started off well, but that patented Hufflepuff grittiness was making itself known. The sun was shining heatedly down on the game and Harry wiped the sweat from his brow. Bloody May and its weather.

In truth, he as getting annoyed. The damn Snitch was nowhere to be seen and it was up to him again to save the day. Was everyone around him incompetent?

' _I have asked myself that same question for years, Potter_.'

"Fun game!" Harry jerked his head to the right. Cedric was there, floating aloft with a sappy grin on his face. Despite Harry annoyance, amusement bubbled up inside of him, but he quelled it quickly; at the moment, they were not friends.

"Won't be for you, Ced," He responded, gazing down. Hufflepuff had the Quaffle again. Fucking Flint had fumbled it away.

Cedric flew in a lazy circle around him. "Aww, come on, Harry! Don't be like that."

Harry ignored him. After all…he had just seen the Snitch.

"And Potter takes off from up above! He's flying through the air like a dragon, folks! Has he seen the Snitch, or is that crafty Slytherin up to something?"

No tricks, no schemes. The desire for pure domination fueled him. Harry approached the Chasers swiftly, thanking magic for fixing his eyesight and himself for having the guts to go through with it. He ducked, digging in with his heels to dive under Whittingale. He threw his weight to the right and rolled past a Bludger.

And then the stupid Snitch switched directions. Beeler had prepared him for that, however.

"Wha – oh, what a move!"

All those end-overs that Beeler made him do certainly paid off. He rocked his broom up and then down swiftly, hooking his ankle around the shaft of his Nimbus. He turned sharply, still on the proverbial heels of the Golden Snitch.

"Potter could be moments away from ending this game, ladies and gentlemen!" Lee Jordan declared to the crowd. "But wait! Here comes Diggory on Potter's right! Do it, Diggory! End Slytherin's reign!"

"Jordan!"

"It's true, Professor!"

Harry ducked another Bludger and Cedric was behind him, laughing his ass off.

"I'm gonna catch you, Harry!"

"Fine. I'll catch the Snitch instead," Harry tossed behind him.

They were near the Hufflepuff goal posts with only several feet between them and the expanse of grass. The Snitch weaved between the posts and the two Seekers followed, until the Snitch shot towards the sun, shining brilliantly in its glare. It went up and up and Harry ignored the peculiar sense of vertigo, clenching his Nimbus tightly with his thighs. The sun was causing him to squint heavily, but the Snitch was mere feet away.

But this particular Snitch was resilient; it soared to the side slightly before falling down dramatically. It was as if the magic of the bloody thing had disappeared.

Harry took a chance. He let his legs fall off the broom and leaned backwards and falling downwards dramatically. It was as if the magic of the bloody thing had disappeared.

Harry took a chance. He let his legs fall off the broom and leaned backwards as well. Sky became ground and ground became sky. He angled his broom…and _flew_.

Nowhere to run, little Snitch. Harry's left hand snatched on of the Snitch's wings deftly and leveled out his broom.

"Potter's got the Snitch," Jordan announced with a sigh. "Final score 270 – 160 Slytherin. The dynasty continues."

Harry beamed, holding the Snitch up by its damaged wing. The Slytherin section was roaring in its approval and was already storming the pitch. An arm draped around his shoulders.

"Nice catch," Cedric grinned. "I'm not taking the risks you take, Harry. You couldn't pay me enough!"

Harry simply laughed in response. Cedric ruffled his hair and took to the ground as Harry's teammates – sans Flint – all attempted to tackle him at once.

"We're the champions!"

"The Quidditch Cup is ours! Again!"

"Brilliant snag, Potter!"

Harry needed to get to the ground. Quickly. His teammates were attempting to tear his robe off him. Of course, the ground was not any better. The Slytherins surrounded him and it was so loud that Harry could not think straight.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your 1991-1992 Quidditch Cup winners…Slytherin!"

Hooch had the Cup, gleaming brilliantly in the light. Harry's smile widened as Bletchley took the Cup from her and hoisted it in the air. When the Cup finally found him, he pressed it up lazily into the air with his right hand.

Harry Potter, the champion. He liked the sound of that.

* * *

"Ahh! That was amazing! You shot off out of nowhere!"

"Remember when he did that Sloth Grip Roll through the Hufflepuff Chasers – "

"And when he shook off the Hufflepuff Seeker – "

"His name's Cedric, by the way! And then the catch – "

"Oh my God, that catch was a masterpiece! Harry's ready for the big leagues, aren't you, Harry?"

"Sure, Royce," Harry snorted. "Just need to grow a bit. Draco, be careful with that thing."

The pitch was finally clearing out. It had taken a good fifteen minutes or so, and now Draco and Royce Beeler were both acting like children. Perhaps Draco had an excuse, but Beeler? Not so much.

"It's fine," Draco scoffed, but handing the Quidditch Cup over to Harry anyway. "A Mending Charm would fix anything I could do to it."

Harry accepted the cup with a grin. Both Royce and Lucius had found him as soon as the Slytherin crowd had thinned out. Lucius made sure to shake his hand and pat him on the shoulder, once again offering Harry a place to stay for the summer. Harry had accepted his offer and joy flowed through his chest like hot chocolate.

"Hello, Harry."

"Remus!" Harry greeted the man. They had kept in touch since their first meeting. "How are you doing?"

Remus shrugged, cocking his head to the side and smiling. "I cannot complain. You told me that you were good at Quidditch, but I think you undersold your talents. That was superb flying. I've never enjoyed myself at a match as much as I did today."

"Harry's awesome!" Royce gushed. "Remus, right? Royce Beeler, Seeker for the Winbourne Wasps. This kid owes me for teaching him all of those moves today!"

"Do not," Harry retorted, but Remus raised his eyebrows.

"Does he, now?" Remus' blasted mischievous expression was back. "Aren't you going to thank him, Harry?"

"I already signed stuff for him!" Harry protested hotly, causing both men to laugh.

"Thanks for inviting me today, Harry," Remus made sure to say. "I had a blast. Congratulations on winning the Quidditch Cup."

Harry did not respond immediately; instead, he grinned and gave the man a one-armed hug.

"Anytime," Harry finally said.

"Hey," Royce blurted out, breaking the silence. "It's a Saturday, right? Let's go to a pub, Remus! Any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine!"

Remus certainly looked unsure.

"Go on," Harry urged him. "Draco and I are going to our own party in a moment. Go have some fun."

Remus glanced at Royce for a moment before patting the pockets of his robes. There was a small, clinking sound and Remus looked up with steel in his eyes.

"Sure, why not?" He said easily. "Got a pub in mind, Royce?"

"Of course! C'mon!"

Royce grabbed Remus by the arm and just like that, they were off. Harry watched on in amusement.

"Got any tattoos, Remus?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Piercings?"

"…Not intentionally."

"Ha! So you do have a wild side, then?"

"If only you knew."

"Excellent!"

"Who was that guy?" Draco asked once the two men were out of hearing range.

Harry shrugged. "Remus Lupin was a friend of my parents. Really cool guy."

"He needs a robe that at least reaches the ground. Perhaps a shave as well," Draco sniffed. That haughtiness of Draco's upbringing was showing.

"He has no money, Draco. He's had a tough life," Harry defended the werewolf. "Bloody brilliant man, though."

"If you say so," Draco muttered dubiously.

"Harry! What a catch!"

He knew that voice.

"Hello, Minister Fudge," Harry smiled fixedly. "How are you doing, today?"

"Very well, very well," The Minister guffawed. "Do you have a moment?"

Harry looked over to Draco. "Er – sure. Draco, why don't you take the Quidditch Cup to the Common Room and I'll be there in a bit?"

Draco nodded after a moment's hesitation, but his eyes glowed brightly as he took the Quidditch Cup back in his hands. The boy walked back to the castle – he was practically skipping – and Harry followed the Minister away from the crowds on the field.

Fudge was in his normal bowler hat and he too was walking with a bounce in his step. Once the pair of them reached the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch, Fudge whirled around with a smile on his face.

"You are quite talented on that broom, by the way," He started, motioning to the broom in Harry's grasp. "But I daresay you've heard that a lot today!"

Harry gave him a small smirk but said nothing. Fudge could not be here just to talk about Quidditch.

"Listen," Fudge took his hat into his hands. "I really want to thank you for your contribution a couple of weeks ago, Harry. It went a long way in aiding my term as Minister."

What contribution? Oh, right; Fudge had sent him that letter.

"Sure thing," Harry said easily. "You've helped me out a lot, so I figured I could do something in return."

"Exactly! Exactly!" Fudge grasped his hand. "That attitude will help you go a long way, Harry! I would not have been able to push my latest proposal through the Wizengamot without your letter. You words are stronger than you know!"

What proposal? Harry had not exactly said nice things, but he never expected Fudge to put his words out in public. "Thanks, Minister. If I might ask, though…what did Fairview do with my contribution?"

"Well, he went and researched each of the evil, vile men and women on the list I sent you," Fudge appeared uncomfortable. "And since it has been a decade since You-Know-Who's downfall, we wanted to do something special for the population that would boost morale and help with our approval ratings – that is, the approval ratings of my advisors and I – and we figured that the best way to do this would be to…close the book on the past, if you know what I mean."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid I don't."

Fudge blinked, gripping his hat tightly with both hands. "Patrick took his research and we had a few respected people – including you, of course – and we took that to the Wizengamot. They decided yesterday evening that the proposal was best for everyone involved. On Monday, everyone with a life sentence in Azkaban for conspiring with You-Know-Who against the Ministry will be given over to the Dementors."

"Dementors?" Harry did not like how the hair on his neck was standing up. "What do they do and why does this matter?"

"Well…" Fudge was squirming. It did nothing to make Harry feel better. "Dementors guard Azkaban for us. They're nasty creatures, really, but the Ministry has use for them. In order to keep them happy, we have to…feed them… –"

"And?"

"Dementors survive on the happiness of others, but they 'eat' souls. So, on Monday, we will be, er…feeding them the Death Eaters."

"What?!"

Harry was gaping. How horrible did that sound? Having your soul eaten by a monster – and that was what these Dementors were. Monsters! He never agreed to this! He only was willing to help Fudge!

But he did help Fudge. He was a fucking idiot.

"I thought Fairview was just collecting my words for you! I did not realize you'd be using me like this!"

"Harry, come now! Be reasonable," Fudge's arms were held out defensively. "You are finishing the job you did ten years ago! You're bringing peace to the Wizarding World and supporting your Ministry like every proper witch and wizard should do! These murderers are the worst sort you'd ever meet. They deserve death if anyone does!"

"But you won't be killing them! It's worse than executions! I did not agree to that! I don't support this!"

"You don't?" Fudge seemed confused. "But Harry, this is for the good of our society. We will prevent anything like the last war from happening again! You will be a hero!"

"I never wanted to be one in the first place!" Harry roared. "I never wanted to grow up in an orphanage! I wanted my parents and they were taken from me! And now you want to ruin more damn lives in the name of the old war! It's over! Let it go!"

"But the support I could gain – "

"I DON'T CARE!"

Harry threw up a silencer before he yelled; he was angry, but not dumb. His chest was heaving much harder than it ever did during the match.

He had to get out of here. The decision had already been made. He had to tell Dumbledore.

"Look, Minister, it's fine," Harry ran a hand through his hair. "It's been done. Whatever. Just…don't do that ever again, okay?"

"I don't know what – "

"You used me," Harry snapped. "You asked for help and then used me for purposes that you never explained. Don't do that."

"You should have asked if you cared that – "

"I know!" Harry shouted loudly. Minister Fudge even jumped a bit. "Look, I've got to go. Thanks for telling me, I guess."

And he whirled around, sprinting up to the school without looking back. He was so fucked. To the Wizengamot, Harry was a boy who had said awful things. He condemned men and women that he did not even know. The only hope he had was Dumbledore. And how was Dumbledore not aware of this?! Was he not the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?

The one thing that _truly_ scared him was the fact that Voldemort had not said a word yet. Nothing.

' _Voldmort? ….Voldemort?_ '

' _Harry Potter…do you have any idea how angry I am?_ '

'I – '

' _You ignored my warnings_!' Voldemort roared. ' _I told you what to do and you did not listen! I warned you not to trust Cornelius Fudge! Harry Potter, you are responsible for the lives of my followers!_ '

Harry's heart sank. ' _I know! I did not mean to mess this up! I was –_ '

' _You were careless and now my followers are going to fucking pay for it! They are MINE, Harry! They pledged themselves to me. I marked them. Do you not understand this? They are suffering in Azkaban for my glory! They will be rewarded! I WILL NOT HAVE YOUR FAILURES SENTENCE THEM TO DEATH!'_

Harry flinched. He was in the entrance hall of the castle and Voldemort's words chilled him. He was responsible, wasn't he? The people were going to suffer something worse than death because of him.

He had to find Dumbledore. He was Harry's only hope.

' _So…what are you going to do?_ '

' _What will I do to fix your mistakes?_ ' Voldemort scoffed caustically. ' _No, no, no. Harry, you are going to fix your own mistakes. I'm not here to hold your fucking hand. What you are going to do is steal that bloody Philosopher's Stone. Tonight. I will go and save my people myself and you had better hope my anger fades, Potter. You will do everything I say, or I will possess your body and get it done myself_.'

God, he had really messed up. Here he was, still in his Quidditch robes with his Nimbus in hand after he had sentenced nearly a dozen people to death row.

' _You listen to me, Potter_ ,' Voldemort's voice was colder that Harry had ever heard it. ' _You will be successful this evening. There is no other option. If you fail..._ '

Harry closed his eyes as Voldemort's words trailed off. He understood the silence better than he would have understood a threat. His life was probably on the line.

Where should he start? Their plan to steal the Philosopher's Stone required a few things. For one, Dumbledore needed to be out of the school.

How coincidental. He had a way to make him leave. Harry raced up the stairs, two at a time. He turned corner, and then another.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Oh, thank god. Dumbledore had just been about to go up to his office.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore blinked before smiling. "What has got you in such a hurry?"

"Minister Fudge, sir," Harry huffed. "You see, the Minister and I were talking after the match and he was telling me about this idea he had for the Wizengamot…"

Professor Dumbledore simply nodded. Harry swallowed to assuage the dryness of his throat. "He wants to give all the Death Eaters in Azkaban over to the Dementors! He wants to take their souls away!"

"That's – I appreciate it, Harry, but I do not believe there is any chance that such a proposal would pass. As a matter of fact, unless the proposal passes unanimously, I must be informed –"

"It already has!" Harry cried.

Professor Dumbledore seemed startled. "I beg your pardon; what?"

"Fudge, I – he asked me what I thought of the Death Eaters in Azkaban and asked for help, sir. He used me! I swear I didn't mean to – "

Wizened arms pressed down on his shoulders. "It's okay, Harry. Just tell me what happened."

Harry breathed deeply and looked up at the man. "Fudge took what I said and twisted it and them presented it to the Wizengamot. I never meant to make this happen!"

"So the proposal passed?" Professor Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded vigorously. "Very well. I must be on my way, then."

Dumbledore paused for a moment and looked down at Harry. "I will take care of this, I promise. Thank you for coming to me, Harry, despite our disagreements lately. I am very proud of you and I'll protect you from any consequences."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, looking down. Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder. "Of course. If you'll excuse me, I must be off to speak with Professor McGonagall."

Harry watched as the man's magenta robes disappeared around the corner.

"Bloody ponce," Harry muttered underneath his breath.

* * *

Harry got into the Common Room unnoticed. A simple Disillusionment Charm (though it probably could not be considered "simple" for most students at Hogwarts) got him all the way down to his dormitory unnoticed. But he did not want to be noticed. He needed to change and grab his father's old Invisibility Cloak.

This was the moment. The plan would have to change a bit, but Voldemort wanted the Philosopher's Stone now. Harry simply wanted to be finished with their agreement; he had fucked it all up, after all. Voldemort would not forgive him – hell, Harry knew he would be lucky to get out of this mess unscathed.

He…he was scared, though. He did not want to lose Voldemort as a teacher. The Dark Lord had taught him more than he'd ever dreamed and now the man was furious. He had things to do and his followers to save. Harry did not want to be left behind.

It was difficult to admit that to himself. The man had killed his parents, after all, and Harry still was not sure how he felt about actually joining Voldemort's side. He was already sworn to neutrality at the very least. A Voldemort with a body was a game-changer, though. It sent a shudder down Harry's spine just thinking about it. What would Voldemort look like? He had a hunch, just from knowing the properties of the Philosopher's Stone and how it was used. Either way, the most powerful wizard in Britain was about to get his body back…if Harry succeeded.

Harry took to the stairs once more, climbing up to the third floor. He was still unsettled – it was as if his center of gravity had changed. Voldemort was silent, brooding. Harry could only move forward, towards his means of earning forgiveness. The Philosopher's Stone.

The door was locked, of course. Harry had relocked it the one time he went down the trap door. Harry threw the hood of his cloak back and drew his wand out.

He remembered how to do this. A tool here, another placed just so inside the lock. Harry struggled for a moment, but felt the lock's mechanism start to give.

"Potter! What on earth do you think you are doing?"

Harry's heart leapt. He was caught! He turned around slowly, his hands bare and risen up above his shoulders to face the woman who had introduced him to the Wizarding World. Professor McGonagall's arms were crossed, but her eyes promised suffering.

"I would like an answer, Potter! This is the third floor corridor. It has been off limits since the beginning of the school year at Professor Dumbledore's command. I could have you thrown out of the school for this."

No. No, no, no. Harry looked down at his feet and swallowed. Voldemort was still silent. He would receive no help. Professor McGonagall would not hesitate to expel him, he knew. That could not happen!

He reached inside his robes with a swiftness that shocked Professor McGonagall. Harry held is wand decisively in his hand, desperation on his mind.

" _Cru –_ "

His wand flew out of his hands, soaring through the air. The holly wand went end over end until it landed into pale hands. Harry's eyes snapped to Professor McGonagall's right.

Professor Snape.

"My, my," Snape drawled. Black eyes narrowed as they examined him. "If you were not in trouble before, Potter, I do believe you are now.

"What was that curse you were attempting, Potter? Answer me!" Professor McGonagall demanded. Harry's heart was in his throat.

"The Cruciatus, I daresay, Minerva," Professor Snape growled. "It looks as if Potter here has been studying some forbidden magic. Dark Magic. Look at the boy; it envelops him."

Harry looked at the man in loathing. How dare Snape betray him?

It did not matter, much. With two wands pointing at him and a Dark Lord who refused to help, he was screwed.


	25. The Dark Lord

"Tell me, Potter; how stupid are you?" Snape sniped scathingly. His held his wand aloft lazily and confidently. Even in Harry's panicked state, he remembered the last time he tried to pick a fight with Snape. It did not work out well. "How on Earth was this supposed to be a smart plan? You thought you'd sneak a peek inside, hmm? The Headmaster expressly forbade access to this corridor for the duration of the school year, but that's not good enough for Harry Potter, is it? The Boy-Who-Lived is above such petty restrictions."

Snape stepped forward smoothly, murder written upon his face. "Do you know who you remind me of, Potter? Your father. I was in school with that arrogant snot and he was worth even less than you, strutting around like a Hippogriff on show, pride leaking from every orifice. And here you are, trampling on rules as if they do not apply to you."

Professor Snape's caustic nature did not seem to sit well with Professor McGonagall, even considering the situation. She stepped up behind him, her wand still firmly in her right hand.

"Severus," Professor McGonagall placed a hand on the wizard's shoulder. "That is quite enough. Mr. Potter is a first year student. He will be punished. But your words are taking this too far."

"And which words would those be?" Professor Snape drawled, his black eyes watching Harry with contempt. "The boy is as dark as they come, Minerva; remember, I would know. As for his father…well, I take solace in the fact that the man is now rotting in hell."

Harry swallowed harshly. His heart was drumming inside his chest and that little, nagging twitch in his eyelid flared up. Wand or not, he would not sit on his laurels and take this. He was Harry goddamn Potter, after all. Harry breathed in deeply. If he had to hurt them both, he would. Harry tensed and the magic within him gathered. And just as it flared to life…

" _Stupefy_."

Harry forgot to breathe. He watched, shell-shocked, as Professor Snape spun on the Sickle and hexed Professor McGonagall. The Transfiguration professor landed with a dull thud, her hat protecting her skull somewhat from the marble floor.

"Idiot boy!" Professor Snape spat, waving his wand to and fro. "Don't just stand there – get that door open!"

Scrambling, Harry hastened to comply. He worked at the lock, putting his shoulder into it until it opened with a muffled click. Harry then jumped to the side suddenly as Snape swept past him, shoving Harry's wand into the boy's chest before striding into the room without another word.

Professor McGonagall's unconscious body floated into the room behind him.

"Come in here, Potter! Quickly!"

Harry blinked. Had…had all of that really just happened? He walked forward into the darkness as music washed over him.

The room was awfully dark, but it looked exactly as Harry remembered it from his first excursion down the trap door. The one difference, however, was that the hulking Cerberus was slumped over upon the floor and snoring as Professor Snape stood above it, his wand shining brightly.

A conjured piano was off to the side playing a moody, haunting tune.

"Very well done, Potter," Snape muttered sarcastically. "Your actions out there were inspiringly pathetic. You were awfully lucky that I was there to intervene."

"Lucky?" Harry protested, looking down at McGonagall with disdain. "I was doing fine until you showed up. Why the hell did you disarm me?"

Professor Snape looked at him with incredulous anger.

"Because, Potter," Snape seethed at last. "Apparently in that dim, adolescent mind of yours, you convinced yourself that using the Cruciatus Curse in a _school_ was a wise solution to fix your mistakes."

"It would have gotten her out of the way," Said Harry angrily. "I need to get the Philosopher's Stone and as long as she can't stop me – "

"It would have been disastrous!" Professor Snape growled. "There's absolutely no guarantee that it would work and simply using the spell would make your place at Hogwarts here forfeit!"

Harry paced, kicking the leg of the piano. "So what?" He replied brazenly. "I need to steal the Philosopher's Stone. I need to get it tonight. Besides, I have a plan, so as long as McGonagall is out of the picture – "

"Oh, forgive me," Sneered Snape. "How brash of me to assume you did not have a plan. Never mind your attempt to use the most desperate of spells – "

Harry scoffed. "It would have worked just fine. She doesn't stand a chance against me – "

Harry was cut off as Snape grabbed his chin roughly. Harry struggled to turn his head away from the man.

"Potter, you look at me when I am speaking to you," Professor Snape drawled, his nails digging into the sensitive flesh underneath Harry's jaw. "Do you think that I'd honestly be impressed by your plan? The awkward fumblings of a little boy do not impress me, Potter. You have been tasked by our Lord and when the Dark Lord says something, you do it. You put everything you have into the task. The Cruciatus Curse is the spell of a woefully underprepared wizard. You ought to be ashamed, but that arrogance you carry prevents you from seeing things clearly. Wake up, Potter! Get the job done!"

Harry had had enough. He shoved Snape's arms away from him.

"Your Lord," He gritted out.

"No," Snape shook his head, stepping forward once more. "Our Lord. Once he returns, he is everyone's Lord. Consider yourself lucky that Our Lord favors you."

"Any favor I have with him is my own doing," Harry disagreed. "There's no luck involved."

"That damn pride of yours," Snape sneered. "I wasn't lying earlier, you know. Your father had it too. And look where he is – pushing up daisies and rotting six feet under."

"Fuck you," Harry spat.

Snape smirked and his eyes frosted over. "Now, let me show you what a real wizard does, Potter. This is called being prepared – pay attention now. _Obliviate_!"

Snape's spell shot through McGonagall's torso, lifting the middle-aged woman off the floor slightly.

"The Cruciatus Curse leaves traces, Potter, but this one doesn't. _Imperio_! _Ennervate_!"

Professor McGonagall sat up slowly. Harry watched in silence as she turned to Professor Snape and stared blankly.

"You had a tough night shift," Professor Snape muttered. "One of the cauldrons in the dungeons had not been properly cleaned by the students and it had a delayed reaction once put upon the shelf in the potions lab. You worked with me to clean the classroom before going back to your chambers well past midnight. Go have yourself a stiff couple of drinks and go to sleep."

Professor Snape turned a raised eyebrow to Harry as McGonagall left without a word. Snape pressed his forefinger to his temple. "Preparation, Potter. Critical and thorough thinking. I not only got you out of trouble, but I gave both myself and Professor McGonagall alibis. We worked together tonight and no one will ever be the wiser. I'll go down to my lab and cause a reaction in one of the cauldrons."

Snape looked down his cooked nose at Harry before smirking. "Welcome to the big leagues, Potter. Get the job done."

Professor Snape turned to leave, but swept back around with a smirk on his face. "By the way, Potter," He chuckled, raising his hand in an "Aha!" motion. "You're going to want the smallest bottle. The rest may prove to be a bit…lethal."

And Snape was gone.

Harry's fuming anger morphed into annoyance the second that Snape left the room – funny how that worked. As much as Harry wanted to deny it, Snape was good. He was very good at what he did and Voldemort had told him as much on several occasions. Tonight was simply the night that Harry perceived that for himself. Bitterly, Harry kicked the leg of the still-playing piano, flinching as the music wavered for a moment.

The Cerberus slumbered on.

Okay, so Snape knew what he was doing – so what? Harry knew for a fact that he was just as capable as Snape. The Potions Professor wanted him to join the "big leagues," huh? Well, what bigger league was there than having Voldemort residing in your skull and stealing a legendary magical artifact that could practically grant immortality? And all of that with no one being the wiser, no less!

Still…Harry's hair still stood on end. Goosebumps prickled his flesh. That scare out in the hallway had been close - much too close. Of course, Harry could (and would) blame Snape for causing him so many problems, but knowing how to use Memory Charms in the future would prove to be incredibly useful; he'd have to look into it once he got the chance.

It would have to wait, however. Harry flicked his wrist carelessly and the trap door on the floor swung open. Down that trap door lay his prize. Harry had been thwarted in his last attempt…but he'd learned a few new moves since then.

' _Thanks, Voldemort.'_

The Dark wizard did not reply, but Harry hadn't expected him to. Instead, he breathed in deeply and felt the now familiar pressure of magic pressing into and around him. It was just as Voldemort had described last Christmas. It was something he had worked on extensively since that time. Harry opened his eyes and his feet left the marble floor.

Damn right he could fly.

' _Lumos_.'

His wand lit up the opening that the trap door had revealed. Stories down, Harry could see the slithering tendrils of Devil's Snare. But now that he could fly, it did not matter.

Harry grinned. The hard part was over. Nothing could stop him now.

* * *

Getting through to the chess set was easier than it had been the first time. Voldemort had instructed him to use magic this time (and that was all he had said) and it made everything so much quicker. Instead of playing the chessboard, he simply blew the pieces to smithereens.

That left Harry at the door that led to the mystery man once more. He had had a plan for this encounter, but now Harry was unsure.

It was the bloody man's fault, in all honesty. Why did he have to speak so vaguely? "The pursuit of good?" That could mean anything! It was entirely subjective, and how was he to prove his…goodness…to a man he did not even know?

There was nothing for it. Harry made a noise of irritation before opening the door.

The room lit up in a flash just as it had the first time Harry entered the room. Fire sprung forth and Harry looked up to the man on his throne.

That sword looked much more menacing than it had the first time.

"Greetings, Harry," The man on the throne beamed. "Welcome back, lad. How was your test?"

"Good, thanks," Harry approached the man slowly, climbing up the steps near the throne. "I, er – that is to say…I'm back."

Red eyebrows rose up and green eyes twinkled with mischief. "I see. And what can I help you with today, Harry?"

Harry inspected the man warily. Harry knew the man was large, but he was even bigger standing up than Harry had thought. The man held his sliver sword limply in his left hand, but nevertheless it was intimidating. Seriously, whose forearms were that big? A thin shirt covered the man's substantial torso and it looked as though the shirt was made from a rough material. The wizard had shucked his robe off when he stood from his throne.

Harry steeled himself. "You told me the last time that I was here that only those in the pursuit of good would advance past you," Harry started lowly. "Well…I'd like to move past this room. Is there some way I can…do that?"

"Ah," The red-headed man looked down his nose at him. "So that's what brings you back to my throne, is it, Harry? I can see it in your eyes – you know what lies beyond my room. You are so close, after all. But what I said to you then stands now. Only those who are pursuing good shall pass."

"Okay," Harry drawled slightly. "But what do I need to do?"

Harry's eyes widened as the sword rose slowly, pointing at his throat. Cold, green eyes met him.

"I think you know," The bearded man said softly.

Harry stepped back and down a step before withdrawing his own wand. A cool gaze met him and with a twirl of the red-head's powerful wrist, the stairs lowered to even out with the rest of the floor. The throne vanished as well.

For once, Harry truly felt like a child. The man lowered himself into a powerful stance, sword and wand crossed in front of him.

"Are you ready?"

Inaudibly, Harry sighed. "As I'll ever be."

The man struck with the speed of lightning and Harry was sent reeling backwards toward the fire encircling them. Wordlessly, Harry deflected another spell before tossing a weak one of his own. Anything to get this man off his trail.

The bearded man simply slashed through the spell with his sword, continuing to move forward.

" _Immolatae Agnum!"_

Harry's shield of fire rose up, smoldering the air around it. However, rather than providing Harry with the respite to regroup, the shield was no match for the mystery wizard. The red-haired man stepped through the shield as if it were water.

" _Incarcerous_!"

The man barked laughingly, cutting through the ropes with ease. "Come now, Harry, you must have more than that! You made it to me, after all!"

Harry dove to the side as a golden spell shot towards him. His shoulder didn't like hitting the floor, but he kept moving; the man was upon him again.

The sword slashed forth and Harry side-stepped it, throwing a fleeting curse at the man's feet. To Harry's amazement, the man dodged it, rolling backwards before coming to a stop on one knee, wand and sword outstretched.

"Not nearly good enough," The beard twitched in amusement. "Stop holding back on me, Harry. I can take it, I promise you."

Harry wiped the sweat from his temple with the back of his hand. "Fine. You may not like what I've got in my arsenal, though."

The man cocked his head to the side. "And why would that be?"

"…It's pretty Dark," Harry admitted.

The sword lowered for a moment. "Dark by whose standard? Magic is not a color, Harry. It just is. Now…give me your best shot!"

The man leapt towards him but Harry was ready this time. He wasn't trying to prove he was good, anymore; he was trying to win.

" _Glacias Sangquine_!"

"There we go!" The mystery man was almost cheering and he threw up a quick shield. "Now that's some magic!"

Harry shook his head in amazement. The spell he had used could be considered lethal. Blood freezing over was not exactly a normal bodily function. But the man charged into action once more.

Either a strong gust of wind or pure magic – Harry could not tell – buffeted him and he rolled backwards. The sword whistled through the air and Harry threw himself out of its way.

" _Laedo Morbere_!"

Harry's plan was not to hit the man with the spells – well, he'd certainly take it if they did hit him – but when he threw out such dangerous curses, it made the man slow his own offense. Such curses were too risky to try to dodge or cut through with pure magic. As long as the man was slowed, Harry could fight him to a standstill.

Maybe that would impress him.

" _Arma Diruptia_!"

Harry threw the spell Sykes' had used in his own duel at the ground near the man's feet and the red head jumped aside.

" _Arma Diruptia! Expulso!"_

Harry threw out another, forcing the man back the other way before sending an Expulso Curse at the first one. A hasty shield saved the man from any severe damage, but the man was off balance.

Harry struck, his right leg lashing out to buckle the man's knee.

"Gah!"

The man reached for his knee, dropping his sword. Harry had his chance at last.

" _Crucio_!"

The red spell consumed the man and Harry's anger morphed into vindictive satisfaction. Instead of screams, however, Harry heard growls coming from the downed man.

Who was no longer downed.

"Nice one," The man gritted through the pain. The sword rose back into his hand. "My turn, is it?"

The air grew thin and Harry's body felt anchored to the floor. His head swam and his vision blurred. Despite all of this, he felt the magic coming at him; it was a struggle, but Harry forced his body to move to the side.

He was panicking. He could not win like this. ' _Calm down, Potter,_ ' He told himself sharply, jumping back once more. It took a moment, but he infused body with magic, just as he had before floating down the trap door. His vision cleared at last and his breath came in gasps as the man struck with his sword.

Harry was too slow and the sword sliced through the sinew of his right thigh. Harry gasped as he fell to the ground, working to block out the pain. Looking around quickly, the air was thick with foreign magic. A red, smoky haze filled the room and the flames surrounding them had risen up to lick teasingly at the ceiling. Harry rolled over as the sword was brought down once more, but a spell pinned him to the floor.

The sword was at his throat before he could even register the movement.

"Do you yield?" The man grunted out. It seemed Harry was not the only one suffering at the moment. Harry did not want to submit, but the sword at his throat made him see sense. Gasping, he nodded.

The magic was gone in an instant and Harry took a deep steadying breath as the sword was lowered.

"Well done, Harry," The man offered his arm. "Very well done. Best duel I've had in years."

His right leg started shaking violently the moment Harry put weight on it. "I guess I've lost, then. It was fun though, I have to admit."

A bright grin made its way to the man's face despite his pain and lack of breath. "Lose? The purpose of this duel was to prove yourself to me, was it not?"

"I don't like losing," Harry admitted. "It's always about winning and losing, when it comes down to it."

The man laid a heavy arm on Harry's shoulder. He wished the man wouldn't.

"Understandable," The man chuckled breathlessly. "But this duel was meant to evaluate you more than anything. You are incredibly powerful for an eleven year-old."

Harry cocked his head to the side, leaning on his right leg.

"I said that only those in the pursuit of good would pass by me," The man continued. "And you have proven yourself to me."

Harry blinked.

"Wait, what?"

"You win," He smiled, arms wide. "You may call me Godric, if you wish."

"I win? But how does that – wait, you're Gryffindor?!" Harry's eyes bulged.

Godric flicked his wand and two thrones appeared, each facing the other. He gestured to the one nearest Harry before taking a seat in his own with a sigh. "I am. Your Headmaster used a neat piece of magic to rouse me from a portrait. You understand how wizarding portraits can echo the personalities of actual witches and wizards, yes? I have a portrait in the castle that the current Headmaster used to revive me. It is temporary, but this echo of me also contains my magic and physical body. Not bad, hmm?"

"I'm not even going to try to work that out," Harry muttered, spurring a laugh from Gryffindor. "Aren't you…do you even know what you are guarding?"

"The Philosopher's Stone, yes," Godric nodded. "Headmaster Dumbledore was very thorough in informing me of my task."

"And what was that?"

Godric's mischievous grin was back. "To only allow the 'good' beyond this point. In you, Harry, I see a lot of good. Perhaps the Headmaster would disagree if he witnessed our duel tonight, but there you have it."

"So what is 'good' to you?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Simply what you are, Harry," Godric beamed. "You are who Salazar, Rowena, and Helga built this school for – we built this castle to teach the wizarding children about their gifts. Seeing someone as devoted to your craft as you are, Harry, brings me great joy. You Headmaster's opinion of good and my opinion of good differ greatly. Headmaster Dumbledore wants only those he's chosen to know about the Stone. I, on the other hand, have no such convictions. If you want the Philosopher's Stone for your own sake, Harry, by all means take it."

Harry sat there in amazement and a smile made its way to his face. "I never thought you'd endorse someone who used Dark magic, sir."

"Bah," Godric waved his hand flippantly. "Dark, Light, it does not matter. Magic is magic. The person casts the spells, you know. Not the other way around."

"So how do you feel about Muggleborns?"

"Theirs is a most tedious situation," Gryffindor started slowly. "But when it comes down to it, they are our brothers and sisters in magic. We need to help them, but not at the risk of exposing our kind."

"Right?" Harry grinned. "No one gets it, nowadays."

Godric nodded gravely. "The Ministry is much too lax. Such a thing would never have been tolerated in my time. I do look forward to watching you rattle the owl's roost, so to speak."

Harry shook his head. That would be fun. "You're going to have to teach me that one spell you used at the end, sir. And the Cruciatus! How did you keep going through that?"

With a hearty chuckle, Godric tugged on his beard. "Trade secrets, my young friend. Tell you what – if you can find my portrait within this castle, I'll teach you everything you'd like to know."

"Awesome," Harry clapped his hands. And to think he had been nervous about all of this. "Well, I think I ought to move on, then. Got a Stone to steal."

"Of course," Godric winked. "I do hope you learned something from our duel."

"I did, actually," Harry grimaced as he stretched his injured leg. "You're a really good teacher."

"I know," Godric Gryffindor smirked.

* * *

Harry cast a Numbing Charm on his injured leg the moment he left Gryffindor's room – he was not going to show that kind of weakness in front of Godric Gryffindor himself, thank you. By the way…he had just dueled Godric _fucking_ Gryffindor. How _cool_ was that? Harry had to tip his proverbial cap to Dumbledore. Going from Quirrell's measly troll to Godric Gryffindor…that was a hell of an upgrade in defense.

Well…it was in theory, Harry laughed quietly to himself. Unfortunately for Dumbledore, Gryffindor was much less concerned with guarding the Philosopher's Stone. The ancient wizard had only cared about keeping it away from the wrong people, it seemed. Well, the man had wanted a fight as well. And despite Harry's leg oozing blood at the moment…he had enjoyed the fight as well.

But now he found himself in another dimly lit room – seriously, why were all of these rooms so dark? A table sat in the middle of the room with small bottles lined up in a row. Harry took a step forward and black flames shot up in front of the door leading onwards. Harry looked behind him and purple flames were there, blocking the way back. Wearily, Harry sighed; he was getting sick and tired of all the damn fire.

Wait. Snape had said to use the smallest bottle, had he not? Harry walked forward, snatching the scrap of parchment off the table. It was…a riddle. A logic puzzle. Harry caught himself snickering. Yep, that was certainly a Snape thing to do. This was without a doubt Snape's room.

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant hold death in their insides._

Harry picked up the smallest bottle from the middle of the line, bringing it up to eye level. Well…it would not kill him, right? Did he trust Snape's word?

Harry drank, shivering as the potion slithered its way to his gullet.

'Here goes nothing,' He thought. He walked forward and the black flames enveloped him. Harry could see nothing through the darkness, but it was oddly comforting. To see nothing, to feel nothing. His outstretched hand at last met the door and Harry opened it without further thought.

He was in the final chamber. No flames, no Godric Gryffindors. No noise.

Just a mirror.

Puzzled, Harry walked up to it. The mirror was large and ornate with a golden frame. Curiously, Harry inspected the frame until he saw an inscription up top:

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi._

It meant nothing to him, so Harry looked at the mirror itself. His eyes widened and he could not contain a gasp.

It was him, like any normal reflection, but it was not _him_ as he was today. He was older. Much older. He was an adult.

And he was _strong_.

The reflection of him smirked widely and green eyes flared red. Harry's reflection's was sporting a grizzled beard. The two runes infused on his wrists stood out prominently, almost shining with power. But there were more runes beside them. Harry had no idea what those runes stood for, but his heart hammered wildly. His reflection wore a loose robe and had no shirt on underneath. Harry could just make out a dark shadow on his reflection's left breast.

He was tall and strong. He was everything he had ever wanted to be. The robe suddenly rippled on his reflection and the Harry in the mirror's hair moved on its own volition, as if a gust of wind had just hit it. There was no wind – it was magic.

The reflection laughed with a cocky grin on his face and he gestured to himself. The magic died down and green eyes met their counterpart's. The reflection reached into his inner robe pocket and produced a stone.

The Philosopher's Stone.

' _Potter, what are you doing? Potter?'_

Harry was snapped out of his daze.

' _This mirror…it's amazing_.'

' _What do you see?_ '

' _I see…me. But it isn't me, exactly. I mean, it will be me, I hope, but…'_

' _Use your words, Potter. Where is the stone?'_

' _In my hand.'_

' _What?'_

Harry meant it was in his reflection's hand, of course. But the reflection winked before depositing the stone back into his robe pocket. Harry felt a sharp corner digging into his skin at that very moment. Hastily, Harry reached inside his own robe, fumbling to grasp the offending item.

It was the Philosopher's Stone.

"I've got it!"

Harry's words of triumph echoed throughout the chamber and Voldemort laughed inside his head.

' _At last, my time has come. Very well done, Harry; let's find a place more secluded, shall we?_ '

Harry threw a glance back to the mirror. The reflection of him was laughing and made a shooing motion.

Fine, then. Harry knew just the place to go to.

* * *

Underneath his father's Invisibility Cloak, Harry stepped through the tree line into the Forbidden Forest once more. Harry could think of no better place to finish this than in the clearing he had used for his rituals.

Voldemort was in a much better mood. He still was not speaking much, but Voldemort's anger could hang like a dark cloud even if he spoke no words. There atmosphere inside Harry's own head was much less oppressive now, to say the least.

' _Here we are.'_

The clearing was darker than Harry had remembered it (there was no moon tonight), but it was just as he had left it: clean, pristine, and sitting there innocently, wiped clear of both of their past sins.

Voldemort and Harry had researched the Philosopher's Stone heavily before actually attempting to steal it. The interesting thing with alchemical artifacts was that they acted autonomously. So in reality, "creating" the Elixir of Life was really quite easy.

' _Are you prepared?'_

Harry nodded, looking down at the little amber stone in his left hand. It was warm to the touch and almost pulsating with energy. He was ready to drink the Elixir of Life…but was he ready for the things that Voldemort's resurrection would cause?

He was not sure.

' _Conjure a goblet, Harry.'_

' _I know_ ,' Harry muttered. _'It's not exactly complicated.'_

Ultimately, he did as he was told. Harry placed the stone inside the black goblet.

" _Aguamenti_!"

The clear water shone inside the goblet and the Philosopher's Stone grew a golden color. Harry could hear the liquid hiss and froth as it appeared to dissolve the stone. Harry panicked for a moment. What if they needed the Philosopher's Stone later?

A sweet, flowery scent reached his nostrils and the frothing inside the goblet ceased. Peering inside the liquid, Harry could not see the stone.

' _Well…here we go.'_

Harry tipped the goblet back and gulped the liquid down. It tasted like warm honey, a pleasant surprise for Harry. The liquid spread through him rapidly, reaching his fingers and toes and doubling back, growing warmer and warmer until it began to grow painful.

The stone met his lips, proving that was still in one piece, but Harry doubled over too soon for that fact to register. Harry heard a growling curse inside his head, and then silence.

His body was much too hot. Sweat was evaporating before it could even be produced. Steam was purging itself from his body. Harry fell to his knees as his muscles cramped. A strangled cry tore itself from his lips.

And it was gone. Harry heard only his own weak, rapid gasps and the sounds of birds in the canopy of the forest.

Until…

"Get up, Harry, and hand me your wand."

Blearily, Harry rolled to his left. His body ached, but he lifted his eyes to see a naked man.

The man looked entirely different from Quirrell, but the red eyes were unmistakable. Voldemort was not looking at him; instead, he was examining his new body with an expression that bordered on delight. Pale skin, never touched by the sun, stretched out smoothly. Voldemort touched the side of his jawline before moving down to his ribs. A joyful chuckle bubbled forth.

Harry struggled to push himself into a sitting position and he held out his wand. Voldemort looked…way different that Harry had imagined. He looked human, for one. Young as well. Hairless – that was a bit creepy, but perhaps it was just the newness of his body. Lean muscles rippled outwards underneath smooth skin. The man looked agile and powerful.

Deadly, too, Harry realized when the man's eyes locked onto his.

"You are lucky, Harry, that I am in such an excellent mood," Voldemort spoke quietly, taking the wand from Harry to conjure himself a wand. The man grinned vindictively as he cast magic for the first time in a decade. "I would have half a mind to punish my followers for such a foolish oversight. Nevertheless, I am pleased."

"Yeah, well," Harry scowled. How dare Voldemort not even offer him a hand up? "I'm not one of your followers, am I?"

Red eyes narrowed dangerously and Harry took an inadvertent step back. "Ah, yes. Our agreement has been fulfilled, has it not? Is this really how you wish to leave it, Harry? Do you sincerely want to walk away from me? You already have one foot in the water. Why would you deny yourself everything you have ever wanted?"

"I…"

Harry looked down at the ground. He could admit something to himself now that he probably could not have admitted at Christmas. He was Dark…or at least he was in the eyes of the Ministry. More importantly, his friends were Dark as well. The Malfoys were Dark.

The Ministry needed change and Voldemort was right. Following him was an excellent avenue towards accomplishing many of the things he wanted to accomplish in his life.

Harry met Voldemort's curious gaze once more. "I want something in return, Voldemort. I…I don't want to – "

"…Go back to your orphanage, yes?" Voldemort supplied shrewdly.

Harry grimaced. "Spot on. If you're willing to give me a place to stay and…you know, hopefully keep training me…"

"Speak to Lucius," Voldemort's eyes gleamed in satisfaction. "Tell him His Lord commands him to open his manor to you. I cannot make any promises to you in terms of training you, but I will keep in touch."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I guess that's that, then. I hope you realize the commitment I'm making here. You'd better live up to your reputation, Mister Dark Lord."

"My reputation is based off the things the public knows about me," Voldemort laughed darkly. "Believe me, I surpass my reputation."

"What are you going to do now?"

Voldemort inspected Harry's wand still in his grasp for a moment. "I will go to Azkaban and fix your mistake. Perhaps I'll kidnap a Healer or two to make sure my faithful followers receive the care that they need. We'll lay low. I have several ideas that I would like to act on, but the public will not know of my return for some time. And Harry?"

"Yes?" Harry asked. Voldemort grinned sharply, striding up to Harry within seconds.

"Now that you have pledged yourself to me," Voldemort trailed off quietly, adjusting Harry's robes with his deft fingers. "I want to hear you say it."

"I don't know wha-"

"Yes you do."

Harry sighed. This was not exactly easy for him. "Fine. My Lord. Happy?"

Voldemort laughed uproariously and roughly ruffled Harry's head. "Ecstatic, Harry. Ecstatic."

* * *

**PRISONERS BREAK FREE**

**Mass Breakout of Death Eaters at Azkaban**

By Patrick Fairview

A mass breakout of prisoners occurred early Sunday morning at Azkaban in the North Sea. The fugitives all had one thing in common – their connection to the former terrorist group known as the Death Eaters.

"Awful news," Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge said in a statement to the press Sunday morning. "The Ministry is still in the process of investigating the breakout. Unfortunately, we have nothing to present to the public at this time. However, we urge each witch and wizard to keep on the lookout for suspicious persons and behavior. We will be increasing our direct Floo connections to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement over the next few days as well as increasing our on-duty Auror staff."

The breakout was first reported at 2:41 am Sunday morning by the jailer staff on guard. By the time the Aurors had arrived, the breakout was finished and the suspects were nowhere to be seen. The Auror office could not be reached for comment, but reports of explosions and broken walls have reached _The Daily Prophet_.

According to Minister Fudge, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is currently in the process of interrogating the Dementors who were present during the breakout.

The list of Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban includes the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, and Sirius Black. Each were convicted of multiple murders and sentenced to life sentences in Azkaban.

Stay tuned to an emergency _Evening Prophet_ for more news on the breakout.


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